A Harvest of Ashes
by MBradford
Summary: Old enemies mean new problems for Merry, Sam and Frodo. Rushford Bramblethorn wreaks havoc on Buckland for his own personal gain, and Frodo again finds himself battling his nemesis.
1. Prologue

Title - A Harvest of Ashes  
  
Author - Mbradford  
  
Rating - R (Violence, mild cursing, adult situations.)  
  
Pairings - Frodo/Bramblethorn (Non-consensual)  
  
Frodo/Sam (Implied)  
  
Disclaimer - The only thing I own here is Rushford Bramblethorn. The rest belongs to the Tolkien Estate.   
  
Summary - A story to follow "In Safekeeping" and "The Way of Vengeance". Frodo's old enemy, Rushford Bramblethorn, troubles Buckland from afar by causing the ruin of the harvest. When Merry, Sam and Frodo travel to Bree to attempt to obtain enough grain to get the Bucklanders through the winter, they get more than they bargained for!   
  
Movie verse, pre - quest.  
  
Author's note - You might have met Rushford Bramblethorn before. He is the hobbit villain from my stories "In Safekeeping" and "The Way of Vengeance". He originated from a plotbunny at Library of Moria that required an aggressive male admirer to attempt to force himself on Frodo, fail, and be dealt with by Sam. These stories have a certain slash aspect to them, mainly due to Bramblethorn's intentions toward Frodo.  
  
Bramblethorn's behavior got him banished from the Shire at the end of the first story, but he just wouldn't keep still. He came back bigger and nastier than ever in "The Way of Vengeance", kidnapping Frodo and attempting to force him to recant his testimony regarding the previous incident. Bramblethorn was thwarted in that effort by Merry, Sam and Pippin, and was publicly humiliated throughout the Shire and sent into exile again, this time more permanently.   
  
Now, Bramblethorn is causing trouble for all of Buckland, and Frodo will find himself once again in the clutches of this evil creature.   
  
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Fore - word, by Rushford Bramblethorn  
  
Well, what have we here? What a pleasant surprise it is to find that you've come to visit me! What was that? You came to hear a tale? Splendid! But before I begin, I must make certain statements - lay the cards on the table, if you will.   
  
Firstly, let me note that this tale is able to be classified "slash" because of my infatuation with Frodo. If such stories are not to your liking, I will not be offended if you choose to depart without hearing the tale. It does bear mentioning that unfortunately, Frodo does not share my sentiments.   
  
Secondly, this tale is rather dark at times. Let's just say that I know what I want, and I will do whatever it takes to get it. Threats, violence, intimidation - they are all in my repertoire.   
  
By the way, the argument has been made on occasion that my kind are all but incorruptible. I beg to differ. While behavior such as mine is an anomaly among hobbits, no race is immune from such things as greed and violence. Witness Frodo's own cousin, that Sackville - Baggins fellow. Now he might have made something of himself if he had chosen his companions more wisely, but I digress.  
  
Oh, and by the way - this is a work of fiction. Please understand, no hobbits were truly harmed in its making.  
  
Those things being said, I will gladly tell you the story of a certain harvest in Buckland, the ruin thereof, and the events that followed. My story begins about two years after my second and quite permanent exile from the Shire....  
  
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Prologue   
  
~*~Bree~*~  
  
Rushford Bramblethorn sipped his ale thoughtfully as he surveyed the motley crowd in the inn that evening, a sense of pride swelling within him. It had taken two years, but he had done it. He had returned from his now very final expulsion from the Shire and slowly restored himself to some semblance of success. His wealth now rebuilt, he felt things were finally going his way.   
  
Through a series of shrewd business deals and some other practices which were best not closely examined, Bramblethorn had come into control of the majority of the locally grown and stored supply of grain, which he hoarded and sold at premium prices, having spread the rumor that the grain was in short supply. He smiled again as he thought of how far he had come since he had been exiled to Bree. A Shire hobbit by birth, he had finally begun to adjust to life among the hobbits and big folk of Bree. Whatever he failed to accomplish by wit alone, he accomplished with might, most of it provided by hired individuals who knew how to apply a little pressure here and there.   
  
Two of those individuals now strode into the common room, making directly for Bramblethorn's table. Stocky and grim faced, they approached and stood glowering to themselves.   
  
"What news, dear fellows?" Bramblethorn intoned lightly, still in his self - congratulatory mode.   
  
"Only this," one of the hobbits said as he tossed a half - wilted sprig of a plant on the tabletop.   
  
Bramblethorn bent to examine it, setting his ale aside for a moment. The vine - like plant had waxy green leaves and elongated red seedpods protruding from the stem here and there. "What is it, and why have you bothered to bring it here?" Bramblethorn asked, eyeing his hired help with interest.   
  
Monto, the hobbit who had dropped the sprig on the table, waved at it in disgust. "Only the most noxious weed ever found in these parts," he informed his employer. "Found it growin' in ol' Longbanks' fields, chokin' out his wheat crop."  
  
"Choking out the crop, you say?" The news chased the smile from Bramblethorn's face. Longbanks was a local hobbit who owned a small farm near Bree. Bramblethorn had made an ally of him and several others by paying them a better price for their grain crops than anyone else around could manage. With the price the grain commanded at resale, Bramblethorn could afford to pay his suppliers well.   
  
"This stuff takes over any field it grows in, no matter what the crop," Anson, the other hobbit, explained. "If Longbanks doesn't get rid of it and replant in short order before it spreads, there really will be a grain shortage in Bree."  
  
Bramblethorn's eyes narrowed. "Keep your voice down, fool," he admonished. "I want you two to - " he paused and considered his words - "encourage Longbanks to get busy getting that stuff out of his fields. We don't need our suppliers drying up on us."  
  
The other hobbits nodded their assents as Bramblethorn considered the weed again. He thought of the thing ruining a perfectly good field of wheat or barley and grimaced. The thought of the fields immediately led to thoughts of the Shire, and to old bitterness. How he would love to see something like that proliferating in the fields of Buckland!   
  
Thoughts of Buckland evolved into thoughts of that upstart Brandybuck, Meriadoc, and his cousin. Ahh, yes. Frodo. Bramblethorn new he would never forget Frodo, and he also knew he would never forgive that Brandybuck for his interference. Bramblethorn had managed to get Frodo right where he had wanted him, only to have that Bucklander burst in. That ridiculous Took had also been present, of course, and that dratted gardener, Samwise Gamgee. Together the three of them had fought Bramblethorn off, setting Frodo free after a harrowing week of captivity and constant abuse.   
  
But Frodo had brought it on himself, after all, Bramblethorn reminded himself. If Frodo had not been so stubborn, had not spurned him so utterly right from the beginning, none of those things would have been necessary.   
  
Bramblethorn shook the memories from his mind, and as he stared at the weed on the table, a new thought began to grow and take root in his brain. An idea, a plan. The fields of Buckland. What a fine revenge it would be to ruin the Bucklanders' harvest! Better still, if no surplus grain was to be had in the Shire when the harvest failed, the Bucklanders might have to go so far as to procure a supply from outside the borders of their safe, peaceful green lands. They would come to Bree. They would come to him!  
  
"My friends, I have a task for you," Bramblethorn said briskly. "After you remind Longbanks of how important his work is to us, I want you to gather more of this. I want you to take the seeds to Buckland and dump them in the wheat and barley fields, and the corn if you've any left. Then, we shall see who has bested whom!" A gleeful smirk slithered across the hobbit's face.   
  
"Will do," Monto responded, taking up the sprig from the table. It was a long way to go just to throw some seeds into a field, but if it lined their pockets with gold, it was a worthwhile pursuit. Bramblethorn paid well for dirtier work than seed sowing, so the assignment sounded like an easy one.  
  
Bramblethorn watched his hired muscle leave the inn and smiled. How he wished he could be nearby to see the look on Meriadoc Brandybuck's face when that weed killed Buckland's cash crops en masse! That would teach the upstart to trifle with Rushford Bramblethorn!  
  
~*~A few days later, in Buckland~*~  
  
Monto pulled a blood red seedpod from his pocket as he stood in the wheat field, dusk falling around him. He glanced about surreptitiously, making certain that he was not being observed as he crushed the pod and threw the seeds to the wind.  
  
The seeds fell where the breeze dropped them, into the rows of the young crop. After Monto had gone, those seeds would sprout in the coming weeks, becoming long tendrils of vines with searching, questing roots that crowded out all other growing things in their path and greedily drained the water from the ground. They would choke out the crop to the point of causing utter destruction, leaving only a few patches of weak and struggling wheat stalks waving in the wind.   
  
The growing season was already well underway, so any re - planting of the fields would have to be done swiftly, and would likely yield only marginal results. The previous year's harvest had been less than expected, after long spells of dry weather had caused crop damage and loss. There was bound to be little grain left in storage, and the large population of Buckland would be in great need of a good harvest to offset the disappointment of the last one. They weren't going to get it.   
  
Monto turned and left to rendezvous with Anson, who had been out sowing destruction among the barley. With no wheat to make bread and no barley to make beer, a dire season would come upon Buckland ere winter fell. Stomachs would rumble hungrily and purses would go empty as kegs of mead and lager would stop rolling out of Buckland for sale to the inns in the four farthings of the Shire.   
  
Small shoots of grain waved and whispered in the breeze, oblivious to their fate as something settled in between them - small, dainty seeds, ready to set disaster in motion with callous disregard for the existence of all else around them. The sun set upon Buckland, and would rise upon the beginnings of evil things.   
  
~*~To be continued~*~ 


	2. Invasion

To the reviewers -  
  
Iorhael - Thank you for your lavish praise! This story, as all the others, did cost me some effort at times. There was a bit of pondering going on here and there.  
  
Peony - Thanks for coming by! This story is actually almost completed in my files so you'll see updates quickly. Bramblethorn will definitely use the grain as something to give him power over Frodo and his companions.  
  
Daonering - Bramblethorn and Emma's Evil Merry are certainly alike in many ways. Both are terribly manipulative.   
  
FrodoBaggins1982 - The idea of the sabotage of the harvest came to me while I was on vacation in August. I was sitting by the pool with my hair dripping in my eyes, scribbling on a notepad and muttering things like, "Yes, that should work..." My husband must have thought I was nuts.  
  
CuriousCat - Yep, ol' Bramby is back, and naughtier than ever. More to come!  
  
GamgeeFest - If you want to throttle Bramblethorn already, just wait! He's definitely going to be deserving of that sentiment.  
  
Tavion - Bramblethorn is very debonair in his own way, isn't he? The title of the story can be taken somewhat literally, as you'll see in future chapters. That weed is nasty and there's only one way to really get rid of it.  
  
Endymion2 - The weed is (thank goodness) purely fiction. Its rapid rate of growth was based somewhat on a real plant, Kudzu, which grows in the southern US. I've never encountered it myself, but I've read that it just takes over and is a real nuisance.  
  
Camellia Gamgee - Took - I've missed you and all my other devoted readers too!   
  
Trust No One - Bramblethorn is the closest thing to a mobster that a hobbit can be. He's a real control freak. If you have time to read the other fics he stars in, that's great. This one will give a little bit of background, but it can stand on its own.  
  
Aelfgifu - At last, I've had time to start posting! Can you draw more pics as the story progresses? There's an award for the best fictional plant? That's interesting!   
  
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By the way, Emma has drawn a picture for this story and it's on her site http://www.geocities.com/aelfgifuemma/RATM.html  
  
Maybe she'll draw more? HINT!  
  
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Chapter 1 - Invasion  
  
~*~Buckland~*~  
  
The morning sun shone brightly on the shoulders of a blonde - haired hobbit and upon the back of the pony he rode at a leisurely pace. Merry patted the pony affectionately as he dismounted and surveyed the field of wheat with a frown. It had grown well for the first few weeks, but had taken a sudden turn for the worse.   
  
"Ned, do you have a moment?" Merry called to the sturdy hobbit who was tending the field.   
  
"Mornin', sir," Ned answered, straightening and rubbing at his lower back. "A moment's rest from me labors to chat is a welcome thing, it is."  
  
"And well deserved," Merry said. Ned was a hard worker and had several young apprentices from Brandy Hall in his charge. He knew his craft and could teach the lads a great deal about farming. The fact that Ned was working this particular field gave Merry pause, as Ned's skills were more than adequate to the task of producing a good wheat crop, far better than what seemed to be sprouting in the field now.  
  
Ned was shaking his head as he looked at the sparse patches of wheat. "Mr. Merry, this crop is givin' me fits. It grew fine until a couple of weeks ago, and now it's being forced out by this nasty stuff." The farmer held up a green, leafy sprig of a vine with red seedpods.  
  
"What in all the world is that?" Merry asked, having never seen the plant before.   
  
"Somethin' I haven't run into before in all my years of growin' wheat an' barley," Ned responded. "It sure takes on strong, whatever it's called."   
  
"Do you think it's to blame for the damage to the fields?" Merry's brow creased as he examined the weed.  
  
"I ain't found anythin' else I can blame it on," Ned told him. "This stuff grows faster than my lads and I can root it out, an' it doesn't seem to take kindly to sharin' the soil with any other growin' thing."  
  
"We must find out what it is and how to get rid of it," Merry said gravely. "I'll check the library for any descriptions or drawings of something like this. In the meantime, please keep up your efforts to dig it out."   
  
Ned nodded. "I'll have my lads pullin' it up with both hands," he promised.   
  
Merry took the sprig from Ned and thanked him, riding back toward the Hall. A feeling of dread was growing within him at the thought of what the weed seemed to be doing to the crops. What was it and how had it got there? How far had it spread? Was it just the one field, or did it threaten more of Buckland's farmlands?   
  
Merry dismounted and handed the pony's reins to a stable boy. He headed straight for his father's study, intending to inform the Master of Buckland of the trouble. This could prove disastrous, he knew. The last harvest had not been up to standards due to dry weather, and the supply of grain in the stores had been dwindling. A good harvest was needed in order to make the Hall properly ready for the winter.  
  
The door to Saradoc's study was ajar, and Merry could smell the pipe smoke drifting out into the hallway. He sighed as he rapped lightly upon the doorframe and entered the room as his father acknowledged his presence.   
  
"How are the crops looking today, Merry?" Saradoc asked, raising his gaze from the ledger in front of him.   
  
"Certainly no better, if not a little worse," Merry said frankly and produced the weed sprig to show his father. "Ned's found his field full of this. Have you seen it before?"  
  
Saradoc frowned as he examined the sprig. "No, I can't say I have." His frown deepened as he realized something. "Ned's been growing wheat since he was a lad. He doesn't recognize this either?"  
  
"No, he doesn't. It's disturbing." Merry shuffled his feet, trying to dispel some of his nervous energy. "I plan to check the library for any references to it, but would you mind if I asked Frodo and Sam to come? Sam's the best gardener in all the Shire if you ask me, and his Gaffer might have told him about something like this."  
  
"I would never object to Frodo or Sam visiting under any circumstances, but I wish they were happier circumstances than this," Saradoc replied as he chewed on the stem of his pipe. "Please invite them, by all means." He looked up at Merry questioningly. "Has Ned begun removing this plant as best he can?"  
  
"He said his fellows will be dedicated to the task," Merry confirmed. "I'll speak to the other farmers and see whether they've encountered this thing as well. I hope they haven't, if it's as nasty as I think it is."   
  
Saradoc nodded. He had ridden among the fields himself the previous week and had already noticed the crops becoming patchy and sickly - looking. "Hopefully Samwise will know something about it and how to best get rid of it."  
  
Merry gave a nod and bade his father farewell as he left to write a message to send to Hobbiton. He penned the note quickly and had it dispatched with haste to the post runners then retired to the library for the remainder of the day to seek information on the weed that was invading the fields of Buckland.   
  
Hours later, he slumped wearily over books and sheets of parchment, having found nothing by way of description or lore regarding the mysterious invader. He retired to spend a night marred by fitful sleep and visions of acres of green vines with red seedpods.  
  
~*~Bag End, Hobbiton~*~  
  
"Sam, I've a letter from Merry," Frodo called as he opened the garden gate. "It seems Buckland is being plagued by a weed that's escaped identification. He wonders if you might be willing to accompany me to Brandy Hall to offer your opinion."  
  
Sam leaned on the hoe and his gaze left the patch of potatoes to rest on the letter in Frodo's hand. "You mean there ain't any at the Hall who can say what it is?" This came as something of a surprise, since Brandy Hall had produced and employed some of the most knowledgeable farmers in the Eastfarthing.   
  
"No one has been able to put a name to it yet or say where it comes from," Frodo answered. "They're quite perplexed and rather worried, from the sound of things. The crops aren't doing well, and following the last harvest, that's very bad news indeed."  
  
Sam nodded. "I'm more than willin' to go, Mr. Frodo, but how long will we be?" Sam always thought of Bag End's gardens before anything else, and the idea of being away and unable to tend them troubled him.  
  
"I don't think we'll be away for very long, Sam," Frodo assured him. "Perhaps a few days." His expression brightened somewhat as he said, "It will be good to see Merry again."  
  
"That it will, Mr. Frodo," Sam agreed. "When are we leavin'?"  
  
"Tomorrow morning, I think," Frodo replied. "I'll send a reply to Merry's message immediately so they'll at least know we're on our way. Will your Gaffer mind us taking the wagon? We'll get there sooner if we use it, and Merry seems rather anxious."  
  
"He won't mind it, I reckon," Sam said with a nod. "I'll make sure an' have it ready by first light so we can get an early start."  
  
Frodo smiled. "You're a priceless treasure, Sam," he said as he folded the letter and went back toward the smial to send a response.   
  
"Thank 'ee, Mr. Frodo," Sam replied with a smile and resumed the tune he had been whistling as he tended the vegetables.  
  
~*~Brandy Hall, Buckland~*~  
  
Frodo's letter was brief, but affirmative, and Merry regarded it as the only good news of the day. Eight fields, three of wheat, three of barley and two of corn, were being attacked by the vines with the red seedpods. The pods matured at an alarming rate and broke open easily, allowing their contents to sprout into the now greatly reviled vines.   
  
Merry had spent a long day riding through the fields and questioning the workers, learning which areas were contaminated and which were free of the leafy plague. He had even gone to Farmer Maggot to see if he or any other farmers of the Marish had seen the weeds in their fields. Much to Merry's relief, Farmer Maggot had replied in the negative, and had been quite disgruntled to discover that he had never seen the plant before.   
  
"Never in all my days have I seen such an odd thing growin' on my lands, an' I hope I never do," Maggot had said emphatically. He had then fixed Merry with a stern gaze and said, "Is all of Buckland rife with it now?"  
  
Even as he replied that it had only been found in several fields, Merry realized there was something odd about that very fact. If the seeds were carried by the wind or by birds, they should be everywhere, not just in a few parts of Buckland. Was it a particular kind of crop the weed would grow amidst and nowhere else? Merry's head ached horribly from just pondering the questions and he gave up his considerations in favor of a pipe full of Old Toby.   
  
Children ran in the courtyard of the Hall, laughing and playing in innocent joy. Merry watched them and felt something cold slither up his spine. There were many children in the Hall now, more than in recent decades. A lean winter would be hard on them, especially. Merry wished for a moment that he were once again a carefree golden - haired lad with naught to worry about but being caught in the act of perpetrating one prank or another.   
  
He sighed and entered the Hall, making his way back to the library to continue his search for information. Any book he found on agriculture or herb lore he read patiently, seeking any sign of the destructive weed, spending long hours and late nights perusing pages in the dim candlelight. He would be grateful when Frodo and Sam arrived to help.   
  
He seated himself in an armchair and began working his way through the stack of books he had set aside as being possible sources of information. Midway through the first one, his eyes closed and refused to open to any command. The book slipped from his hands and dropped to the floor, forgotten. It was in that very same position, slumped in the armchair with his chin on his chest, that Saradoc found his son hours later.   
  
"Merry, wake up." Saradoc shook Merry's shoulder lightly. "You'll get a knot in your neck, drifting off in a chair like that."   
  
Merry groaned and scrubbed a hand across his face. "Have to find it," he muttered. "I have to find something about that dratted weed."  
  
"Later, my lad. You've had a long enough day as it is. Frodo and Sam will be here soon to ease the burden from your shoulders." Saradoc picked up the fallen book and replaced it on the table. "You've had no luck as yet?"  
  
"No. Not a thing. Not a word, not a drawing, not the briefest mention of anything of the sort." Frustration was evident in Merry's tone. "At this rate we'll be undone by something we can't even name."  
  
"If you work any harder at it, folk will name it Meriadoc's Bane," Saradoc cautioned. "I'm very glad of your diligence, Merry, but you must rest when you're tired and eat when you're hungry."  
  
"Eat what?" Merry asked gravely. "Every bite I take reminds me of the one I may not this winter."   
  
"I share your fears, but we mustn't stop living today because of what may or may not befall us tomorrow." Saradoc clasped Merry's hand and pulled him to his feet. "Now, off to bed with you. A proper night's rest will put everything in a new perspective."  
  
"I wish I had your confidence," Merry said to his father.   
  
"When you see a few more seasons you will," Saradoc assured him. "I've seen times of plenty and times when things seemed terribly bleak, yet I've seen the people of Buckland survive them all. I hope that your life is long and prosperous, and that you see many more of the joyous times than the hard ones."   
  
"I hope so too," Merry said sleepily. The two left the library and Merry walked the length of the corridor at his father's side, wondering how his father had dealt with the first such crisis he had met with as the Master of the Hall.   
  
~*~ To be continued ~*~ 


	3. Burning

QTPie2488 - It's good to be back! Oh, Bramblethorn says it's good to be back too.  
  
Camellia Gamgee - Took - Merry is of an age where he will be learning more about the actual running of the Hall. I like writing scenes with Merry and his father. I just imagine it to be a good relationship they had.  
  
Trust No One - Thanks for your comments on my portrayal of Merry. I see him as having not only a mischievous, fun - loving side to his character, but a serious and thoughtful side as well. Rushford with the Ring? It's too awful to consider!  
  
Iorhael - Angst will abound in future chapters. Rushford's bad deed is definitely bearing fruit, at least from his point of view.   
  
Aratlithiel11 - I sort of sprung the posting of this fic on you without a real warning, didn't I? Merry is having a tough time trying to figure out what's gone wrong, and it's beginning to wear on him.   
  
GamgeeFest - Sam will only be away from his beloved garden for a short time right now, but there will come a time after harvest when he will be away for a bit longer. It's been so long since that weed has been seen around Bree or the Shire that folks have forgotten it.   
  
FrodoBaggins87 - There's action coming, certainly. It just takes a certain amount of time to get those poor hobbits into sufficient trouble!  
  
Endymion2 - There won't be a lot of talk of where the weed actually came from. They'll be too busy trying to do something about it. Merry trusts Sam as the best gardener he knows outside of Buckland, and he's not found any answers himself. Might as well see what Sam has to say, eh?   
  
Aelfgifu - I'll try to vote at the Golden Mushrooms. I've been so swamped lately!   
  
KT SHY - Thanks for your kind comments. I hope you keep coming back!  
  
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Chapter 2 - Burning  
  
~*~Brandy Hall, Buckland~*~  
  
Frodo anxiously scanned the landscape ahead as Sam drove the wagon along the bumpy road. He could see several fields of grain in the distance, but as they drew nearer, he could tell something was terribly wrong. He glanced at Sam and knew by the dismay he saw in the gardener's gentle eyes that the sight was disturbing to Sam as well.   
  
"It looks bad, even from here," Frodo remarked quietly. Sam nodded. They drove on, intent upon reaching the Hall and hearing what Merry and Saradoc had to tell of the events of recent weeks.   
  
The Hall itself looked as it always had, the courtyard shady and bright with the many colors of the flowers that bloomed there. To look at the children laughing and playing, one would think nothing was amiss at all. Merry emerged from the Hall and was walking steadily toward them, his steps lacking their usual energy. As he neared, Frodo was struck by how tired his cousin looked, how burdened he seemed in contrast with his usual cheer.   
  
"Merry!" No sooner had the wagon stopped moving than Frodo jumped out of the seat and embraced his cousin. "You look so tired. Have you not been sleeping?"  
  
"Rest has been a rare commodity lately, I'm afraid," Merry replied as he reached out to clasp Sam's hand in greeting. "It was good of you to come."  
  
"I don't know what help we can be, but Sam and I will do all we can to assist," Frodo said as he pulled his pack from behind the seat of the wagon. Sam immediately took it from him and shouldered it himself, along with his own.   
  
"Can you show me that weed, Mr. Merry?" Sam asked. "I hope I can tell you what it is."  
  
"I hope so too, Sam. But first, lets get you settled and get something to eat. You must be hungry after traveling." Merry led the way through the doors of the Hall, and showed Sam and Frodo to the best of the guest quarters. "You know you can stay anywhere you want, but these rooms are close to my family's and are the most comfortable available."  
  
Frodo smiled at Merry's statement. Most of the time when Frodo came to visit there was a celebration of some sort in progress, and guest rooms were in great demand. This time, the Hall was mainly occupied by its permanent residents, and rooms that were usually reserved for important guests like the Mayor stood empty.   
  
"We appreciate it, Merry. Sam and I are at your command from this moment on. Nothing you ask of us will be too much." Frodo gestured down the hallway toward the library. "I should like to begin with seeing the research you've done. I used to spend quite a lot of time in the library, and perhaps I've seen something of use."  
  
"The library it is," Merry replied. "You've done enough riding down dusty roads for now, so seeing the fields can wait." To Sam he said, "I have some specimens of the weeds here, so I need not drag you out to the fields to see them."  
  
"I'd like a look at the thing, no mistake," Sam said gravely. "Anythin' that can make such a mess of your fine wheat fields is no friend of mine, Mr. Merry."  
  
Merry escorted Sam and Frodo to the library and showed them the stacks of books he had already searched for information on the offending weed. "I've found no references to anything of its kind so far," he admitted with a shake of his head. "With all the information in this library, you would think there would be something."  
  
Sam was examining the dried cuttings of the weed that were laid out on a table. He touched them carefully, making sure not to crack the brittle red pods. "I ain't seen this before, Mr. Merry. Not growin' at least," Sam said as he peered at it.   
  
"We've several fields of it, growing happily as you please," Merry said with disgust.   
  
"None of these books held any reference to it at all?" Frodo said with dismay. No wonder Merry looked so haggard. He had obviously been spending every waking moment in search of a solution to the problem.  
  
"Not these, but as you know, there are many more to be searched." Merry gazed up at the shelves of books around him and sighed.  
  
"We're here to help, Merry, and we're ready to start. We can eat while we work," Frodo suggested.   
  
"Eru bless you, Frodo. I'll go to the kitchens right now and have something made ready." Merry stepped out the door and walked down the hallway.   
  
Sam looked around at the many volumes lining the walls of the room. "Where ought we to start, Mr. Frodo? I ain't never seen so many books in one place, not even at Bag End."  
  
"I'll begin over here," Frodo said, pointing at the nearest shelf. "We should look for any books on agriculture or herb lore," he told Sam and began to scan the titles. Sam had never been more grateful that Bilbo had taught him to read. His Gaffer hadn't seen the use of it at the time, but had allowed it nonetheless, provided Sam kept up with his gardening duties. He pulled a book off the shelf and began to scan its contents, replacing it when he found nothing of value.   
  
Frodo was taking similar action across the room. He found a book on medicinal herbs and perused the pages with the hope that the weed was not completely destructive. None of the descriptions or illustrations in the book seemed to have to do with the plant.   
  
By the time Merry returned, followed by several of the kitchen workers bearing trays of food and a full tea service, a number of books had been eliminated as sources of information. The hobbits sat down to refresh themselves with a meal and some tea. Frodo read even as he ate, pausing between bites to scan and turn the pages of the book that lay in his lap.   
  
Hours later, nothing had surfaced. Merry suggested they go outside for some air and a pipe, and Sam and Frodo agreed eagerly. As they stood outside and watched the sun setting over the trees, Frodo thought of something.   
  
"We've been looking at books on agriculture and herb lore, but we haven't done anything with the histories yet," he mused. "Perhaps something like this has happened before, long ago, beyond living memory. If someone thought to record the events, we might find what we need."  
  
Sam's brow creased as he tried to remember things his Gaffer had told him over the years. History had never been his favorite subject of conversation, even when it had to do with things that grew in the soil. "Maybe so, Mr. Frodo. I'm tryin' to recall things I heard my Gaffer say when I was a little lad."  
  
"Don't overwork yourselves when you've only just arrived," Merry admonished. Although they had come with a purpose in mind, Sam and Frodo were still guests.   
  
"You're one to talk about overworking oneself," Frodo chided gently. "When was the last time you got a full night's sleep?"  
  
"I don't remember, to be truthful," Merry responded as he dumped the ashes out of his pipe and scrubbed them into the dust with his toes. "It's been a while, that's certain."  
  
They walked back into the Hall and to the library, feeling better for the fresh air and a little pipeweed. Frodo abandoned the herb lore and agriculture books for historical accounts of life in Buckland and other regions of the Shire. More time passed and Frodo was startled from his reading by Sam's voice.  
  
"Mr. Frodo, I don't know if it will be any help at all, but I recall my Gaffer tellin' me a tale when I was a very small lad. He was tryin' to put it into my head not to be a lazy ninnyhammer and let a single weed go without pluckin'. He said somethin' about seeds spreadin' trouble faster than Goodwives spread gossip, an' havin' to burn everythin' to stop the trouble."  
  
"Having to burn it?" Frodo frowned and looked at the book he was holding. He had just passed by a chapter about a series of fires in the Southfarthing. He was looking for information on crop failure, not fire. He turned back to the chapter and started to read it.   
  
"Sam, this might be of some use," he said at length. "Several generations ago, there was a forest fire in the Southfarthing that was actually started by a farmer burning a field. The account here isn't very detailed, but it says he claimed to be trying to eradicate something unwanted that was growing on his land."   
  
Sam came over to where Frodo was standing and peered over his shoulder at the book. As Frodo turned another page, a very small illustration nearly leapt off the next one. "Look, Mr. Frodo! Don't that look like them weeds on the table over there?" The small illustration, though not a very professional rendering, did resemble the dried sprigs Merry had saved.   
  
"It says here that the farmer was trying to clear his land of a vine with red pods, and that the vine was taking over his field and choking out the crop he was growing there. He tried to plow it under, but it just came back stronger than ever. When he and his field hands tried to pull up the plants, the seed pods broke open and there was that much more of it as a result."  
  
Sam picked up one of the sprigs from the table. It was dry enough for the pods to be especially brittle. "Mr. Merry, I know it's near nightfall, but can I get a look at some of this as is still in the field? I want to know if them pods are as brittle when they're still attached to the live plant."  
  
"Follow me," Merry said and led them from the library. They had ponies saddled in moments and were able to reach the edge of a wheat field as the last rays of sunlight were fading from the sky.  
  
Sam dismounted and bent down on one knee to examine the weeds at his feet. He gingerly reached out and plucked one of the sprigs. He then laid his handkerchief down on the ground to catch any falling seeds and poked at one of the pods experimentally. Minimal pressure was all that was required to make the pod burst open, and a large number of small seeds spilled out onto the fabric. "Brittle as your aunt Lobelia's temper, it is," he remarked as he carefully gathered up the handkerchief. "I'll toss these seeds into the fire back at the Hall so they can't do no damage."   
  
"So you may have found the culprit," Merry said excitedly. "But what is it called and how do we get rid of it?"   
  
Sam shuffled his feet and looked at Merry with a pained expression. "More of my Gaffer's tale is comin' back to me now, especially since Mr. Frodo found that bit in the book. The farmer was burnin' his fields, Mr. Merry." Sam took a deep breath before he spoke again. "This here is Fireweed, an' it gets the name from how fast it spreads and what you have to do to stop it. Mr. Merry, the only way to get rid of it is to burn it."  
  
Merry blanched. "Burn it, Sam? But we've found it in no less than eight fields!"  
  
Frodo looked at Merry in shock. "Eight? But that means - "  
  
"It means a significant loss of wheat, barley and corn. We can re - plant, but we're well into the growing season already. We can't expect our yield to be very promising." Merry gazed out at the field as darkness fell, and his heart was heavy as he thought of telling his father the news.   
  
"I'm very sorry, Mr. Merry," Sam said mournfully. It was terrible to think about the loss of the crops. Sam had an inborn love of all growing things, and seeing useful plants die in favor of weeds insulted his sensibilities harshly.   
  
"We had better get back to the Hall and start preparations to burn the fields," Merry said, giving the sickly wheat a last glance. The three hobbits mounted their ponies and rode away, leaving the field to be dealt with in the light of morning.  
  
~*~The next afternoon~*~  
  
"All right, lads, keep those shovels ready in case the flames start to spread where we don't want 'em," Ned shouted to the apprentices at the edges of the field. He lowered the blazing torch into the wheat and the burning of the contaminated areas began.   
  
The flames devoured all in their path, weeds and wheat, barley and young shoots of corn already grown to the height of a hobbit's head. Sam took his only measure of comfort in watching the red pods of the weed turn to ashes, their contents rendered impotent.   
  
Frodo stamped upon a stray tongue of flame that was starting to burn toward some brush and Merry shoveled soil over the spot. For the remainder of the day, the hobbits burned fields and put out embers as dark smoke splayed across the sky in a dense cloud. By the day's end, everyone was tired, grimy and depressed as they made their way back to the Hall.   
  
"Mr. Frodo, I'll have a nice bath ready for you as soon as we get back," Sam promised. It was somehow disconcerting for him to see so many dark, sooty smudges on Frodo's pale face.   
  
"What about you, Sam?" Frodo asked with an almost amused expression. "You look like you've been put down the chimney."   
  
Sam supposed that he did. If the smudges on his hands and forearms were any indication, the rest of him must be a sight indeed.   
  
Merry looked at his own hands ruefully. It was plain to see that they were all a mess. "There's more dirty work ahead, I'm afraid. We'll be re - planting as soon as possible."  
  
Sam nodded. "I wish you fine weather for the rest of the season, Mr. Merry. With luck you'll get somethin' out of them fields an' that's better than nothin', if you follow me."  
  
"I do, Sam," Merry replied, glad of the encouragement. "Then we'll see what the harvest brings."   
  
~*~Bree~*~  
  
From his spacious smial in the hills overlooking the village, Bramblethorn scanned the sky in the direction of Buckland. He had been watching the smoke rising and creating a dark haze. There was only one thing that could be causing it, and he smiled in satisfaction. Monto and Anson had managed to seed eight of the largest fields with the weeds, and all of them would have to be burned.   
  
Bramblethorn wondered when the panic would set in. Bucklanders were odd, but they weren't stupid. Any adult hobbit in the Eastfarthing would know that losing even eight fields of crops on the heels of the last disappointing harvest could spell disaster. But that wasn't his concern. Let those Brandybucks deal with that, he counseled himself. All he had to do was wait to see whether the Shire could support Buckland through a lean season. He strongly suspected it could not, and that the Bucklanders would come looking for supplies to purchase in Bree. When they did, he would be ready for them.   
  
~*~ To be continued ~*~ 


	4. Harvest

QTPie - 2488 - Sam certainly hates to see the destruction of any growing thing, but that weed had to go. The weed itself is an invention, but some of its behaviors like the fast growth rate come from actual plants I've read about.  
  
Iorhael - At this point, Bramblethorn has no idea as to whether he will ever see Frodo again. He has just the memory of right now. Won't he be in for a surprise!  
  
Aratlithiel1 - I'm glad you like the premise of the story. Amazing what pops into your head while you're sitting by a pool enjoying a margarita! That epilogue will be along soon, I hope. It's nearly done.  
  
Aelfgifu - Bramblethorn doesn't care if he's causing harm to something that grows out of the ground or walks upon it. He's an equal - opportunity villain. Sam doesn't like to see Frodo in the least bit of discomfort, so even the effects of a long day of field burning will trouble him a bit.  
  
Peony - Suspense is building, and soon our heroes will meet their opposition. There will be some strong reaction when the truth of the matter comes out and everyone finds that Bramblethorn is involved.  
  
Endymion2 - The weed has pretty much played its part in this story. Now we have to deal with other issues like greed and lust. (Bramblethorn, you know.) The term 'yield' is used sometimes to refer to an agricultural crop. Don't you tell me a thing about ROTK! I'm going to see it Sunday.  
  
Hobbitfeet13 - Thank you for your in - depth review of not just this story so far, but the entire Bramblethorn series. I never intended so many stories to come from one idea, but I found that once I'd created Bramblethorn, I couldn't drop him easily. He kept coming back for more. This story is a little slashy regarding Frodo/Sam, but nothing massively overt.   
  
GamgeeFest - Bramblethorn is nasty, isn't he? Greedy old - nevermind. He's happy as can be that he's making those uppity Bucklanders squirm.  
  
Trust No One - Will Bramblethorn get 'lucky' this time? Read on and find out. The answer lies in future chapters.   
  
Camellia - Gamgee - Took - I'm seeing ROTK this weekend too, and I'm hoping it will inspire me rather than leaving me in a state of mental overload. The latter is more probable, but you never know!  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Author's note - Please forgive me if I make you dizzy with this chapter. There's a lot of jumping around from place to place over a period of several days.  
  
Chapter 3 - Harvest  
  
No sooner had the ashes of the failed crop cooled than Buckland re - planted and a period of waiting and hoping began. Tended by the best masters of the craft, the new crops grew well enough, but harvest time came before they could come to full maturity. Now the grain and corn had been brought in and stored, and the results tallied and recorded.   
  
Merry and Saradoc leaned over the ledger on the desk with grim faces. There had been no celebration at harvest this season, just the observance of the simplest of traditional rites. Dancing and feasting were to be left for times of plenty, when celebration was warranted and hunger not a distinct possibility.   
  
"This simply won't see us through the winter, will it?" Merry asked quietly. He had done the sums in his head, knowing roughly what the population of Brandy Hall and its environs numbered.   
  
Saradoc looked at his son and shook his head sadly. There was no point in pretending or trying to shield Merry from the truth. Merry already knew. It was plain behind the blue of the eyes that peered intently at him now. "We shall have to buy or barter, I fear. I shall write to Paladin and ask if he has any surplus to trade, but I believe I know the answer he will give."  
  
Merry nodded. The Great Smials were no less populated than Buckland, and had fared little better the previous year. Their crops had not been damaged by the invasive weeds this season, but the folk of Tuckborough might very well need all they had gathered as it was.   
  
"I shall send an inquiry to Farmer Maggot," Merry said, knowing it would be of only marginal gain if the old farmer could spare anything in trade. "Perhaps we could trade some barrels of beer or the services of some of our artisans."   
  
"That's a fine suggestion, Merry. I've spoken with the blacksmiths and wheelwrights already, and they've said that they will make their services available to any who need them if grain is to be had as a result," Saradoc told his son.   
  
Merry turned to leave the study, and Saradoc called out to him. "Where are you off to, lad?"  
  
"I'm going to write to Frodo and tell him the news," Merry replied. "He knows most of the farmers around Hobbiton, and maybe he can help us too." Merry was stung by the thought of having to ask for assistance from beyond Buckland's borders. He had never seen a time when such action had to be taken, and it was a bitter thing.   
  
"Please tell him your mother and I send our best wishes." As Saradoc watched his son leave the room, pride warred with sorrow within him. He was very proud of Merry for the effort he had put forth so far during the crisis, and he was certain the young hobbit would be more than ready to take on the responsibilities of the Master when the time came. Still, it grieved Saradoc to see his son so burdened at a time in his life that should be filled with cheer and vigor.   
  
~*~Several days later, Bag End~*~  
  
Frodo let his tea grow cold in the cup as he gave his full attention to Merry's letter. Sam took several furtive glances at Frodo as he peeled a potato, and was alarmed by the deepening frown on his master's brow.   
  
"It seems Merry's fears have been realized," Frodo said glumly as he put the letter down. He lifted his teacup and stared into it blankly, then set it down again without drinking. "The harvest was poorer even than last year's, and now they've got to ask for help."  
  
"Can we do aught for them ourselves?" Sam asked quietly, knowing that his own family had nothing to spare.   
  
"I don't know, Sam," Frodo replied. "I intend to speak with some of the farmers in and around Hobbiton. I think I can afford to purchase some wheat and corn to give to Buckland, but there's some question as to whether there's much to be had."   
  
"I know what you mean, sir," Sam said. "I was talkin' to Tom Cotton just the other day, an' he said they're ready for the winter, but only just."   
  
"Whatever can be found will help, I know," Frodo said with a nod, "I only wish there were more I could do." Buckland, after all, was Frodo's original home and he would always do anything in his power to ease the troubles of his family there.   
  
"Don't you fret so, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, trying to cheer his friend and master. "Mr. Merry and Mr. Saradoc are two of the smartest hobbits in the Shire, an' if there's a way through this, they'll think of it."  
  
"I do hope you're right, Sam." Frodo rose from the table. "I'm going to go out for a while and see what support I can raise for them." Sam nodded and watched Frodo leave Bag End. He turned back to the potatoes with a heavy sigh.   
  
~*~later~*~  
  
Frodo returned to Bag End hours later, tired and hungry. He had missed tea and was late for supper, having spent much of the day talking with those farmers who were available. Many of them had only small land holdings and grew enough to sustain their own families. Those whose lands produced more than was strictly needed were few, but they had agreed to help. Frodo had offered them a good price for a share of their crops, and several deals had been struck.   
  
"Sam?" Frodo called as he opened the door. Sam jumped at the sound of Frodo's voice, having been absorbed in watering several plants on a windowsill.   
  
"Mr. Frodo, I was beginnin' to think I ought to go an' look for you," Sam said with relief. "Where have you been all this time?"  
  
"I must have walked the length of half the Westfarthing today," Frodo said wearily. "I've managed to make several agreements that will gain Buckland an extra wagon load of wheat, but nothing more. I'll need your help to retrieve and load it."  
  
"So we're bound for Buckland again?" Sam said, looking out the window at the garden. It had fared well enough in his absence before, he supposed.   
  
"As soon as we've gathered the wheat I was able to purchase," Frodo confirmed. "We must get it tomorrow and start for Buckland the following day. I'm going to write Merry right now and let him know we're coming." Frodo padded into the study as Sam followed.  
  
"But Mr. Frodo, you must be hungry, what with all that walkin'," Sam said. "Don't you want something to eat?"  
  
"I would be grateful for a good meal, Sam," Frodo said with a smile. "If you get something ready, I promise I'll be along in a few moments." Sam nodded and proceeded to the kitchen to put the kettle over the fire.   
  
~*~Two days later, Bag End~*~  
  
"Well, Sam, that's the last of it," Frodo said as he checked the tally he had made of the contents of the wagon. The entire bed was filled with sacks of grain. Sam and Frodo had spent most of the previous day visiting the farmers and purchasing the grain, and had left tallying the totals for the next morning.   
  
"I'd say you've done Buckland a good turn, sir," Sam declared, impressed with the amount that Frodo had managed to procure.   
  
"Perhaps, but I still wish I could do more. I feel so useless, Sam," Frodo confessed.   
  
"Please don't take on so, Mr. Frodo," Sam soothed. "You ain't at all useless, an' that's a fact. Mr. Merry will know you done what you could an' he'll be right glad of it."  
  
Frodo smiled. Deep down, he knew Sam was right. Merry would indeed be glad of any help that came from Hobbiton, and would give Frodo the same gentle admonishment. "We had better get started, Sam," he said and handed Sam his pack.   
  
~*~Brandy Hall, Buckland~*~  
  
A genuine smile lit Merry's face for the first time in days as he surveyed the wagonload of corn and barley that had come in from Tuckborough. It was a generous amount, given the circumstances, and a letter of thanks had already gone out to the Thain and his family.   
  
Saradoc stood at his son's side and clasped his shoulder. "Farmer Maggot has traded another wagon load to us for the services of our wheelwright," he told Merry. "It seems several of his wagons and carts are in need of repair, or so he says."  
  
Merry nodded knowingly. It was unlikely that Farmer Maggot's wagons had been in need of attention, but it would be just like the old fellow to claim such a thing so as not to make his assistance seem like charity. "A fine hobbit, Farmer Maggot. We're fortunate to have him as an ally."   
  
Saradoc supervised the storage of the additional grain, as Merry joined in the process of unloading it. By the time they were finished, the overall tally was looking a little better, though still not near what it should be. When they returned to the Hall, a letter from Hobbiton was waiting for them.  
  
Merry ripped it open anxiously. What had Frodo accomplished in the past few days? If he knew his cousin, Frodo had been dedicating himself to the project of procuring more grain since his receipt of Merry's last message.   
  
"Frodo, you're a wonder!" Merry breathed as he read the note. "Frodo says he has managed another wagonload for us and he and Sam are on their way here as we speak." Merry's eyes shone as he handed the letter to his father. "It was so very generous of Frodo to spend part of his own inheritance to purchase grain for us."  
  
"Bilbo was quite generous with his fortune before he left the remainder to Frodo," Saradoc remarked. "It seems Frodo takes after him in that respect." Of course Frodo would have the gratitude and future support of the Hall in all his efforts as well. Had the situation been reversed, the Brandybucks would have brooked any expense to assist Frodo.   
  
"Another wagonload will be quite helpful, but we still haven't enough, have we?" Merry said, sobering. He fixed his father with a serious gaze and asked, "Have you any plans to purchase from outside?"  
  
Saradoc eyed his son sharply. Merry was quick - minded, indeed, if he had already been considering the possibility. "I've thought of it. I know it would be an unusual measure to take, but given our situation, it may be our only hope of a winter without hunger."   
  
"Consider me a volunteer for the task," Merry said gravely, hoping his father would find him able to deal with such a responsibility. "You have so much to do here, you might as well send me as your emissary."   
  
"You've proven yourself to be equal to any task I've set you so far," Saradoc admitted. "Should such a decision be made, it would be to Bree that I would send you, perhaps farther if need be. We can discuss it further when Frodo and Sam arrive."   
  
Merry felt a twinge of hope. If he were sent to Bree to barter for grain, perhaps Frodo and Sam would be able to go with him. The journey would be much more pleasant with company, and safer with three together, for Bree was certainly not the same as the quiet, peaceful Shire. The people of Buckland traveled there somewhat frequently and were familiar with the village and its inhabitants; still one could find an enemy around any corner as easily as one could find a friend.  
  
~*~Bree~*~  
  
"Keep your ears and eyes open," Bramblethorn instructed his henchmen. "Unless I miss my guess, those Bucklanders have brought in their harvest by now and should be considering their options. I want to know if any of them show up in town asking to purchase grain."  
  
Monto and Anson nodded. They would be hanging around the inns and listening, as well as watching for unfamiliar hobbits who might be coming into Bree from the Shire. Not a bad assignment, sitting around drinking ale and eavesdropping. There were worse ways to occupy one's time, that was certain.  
  
"If you hear anything even marginally unusual or see anyone nosing about, I want to know about it immediately. Your job is to make sure any potential buyers are sent in my direction." Bramblethorn fancied he could feel the weight of the coins in his hands already. "I will be watching as well." Between the three of them, they should be able to manage a thorough watch of the town.   
  
The game was afoot, and all that remained was waiting for the Bucklanders to make their move, and move they must if they wanted to last the winter. How much grain could he sell them, Bramblethorn wondered? If they only asked for a small amount, he might be able to persuade them to buy more. He could declare that he only sold the grain in lots of a certain amount and demand that they buy the larger quantity. They wouldn't do any better up the road, in any case.   
  
Bramblethorn's self - satisfied smirk grew larger as he watched his hirelings leave to begin their information - gathering mission.   
  
~*~ To be continued ~*~ 


	5. Decisions

Trust No One - Bramblethorn will strike a hard bargain, indeed. Will Frodo be part of that bargain? (Evil laughter...)  
  
Endymion2 - I just may be in time for Christmas with the chapter in which our heroes and villains meet. If not, it will come soon after.   
  
KT SHY - I have a confession to make. I get the chapters out so fast because they're already written. I've spent the last 3 months or so writing and editing this story and sending chapters to my beta to review. Having the whole thing finished at the time I start posting helps me keep up the momentum of the story and ensures that I'll actually finish it sometime!   
  
Hobbitfeet13 - There's not been a lot of slash yet, but there is some naughtiness ahead. This is Bramblethorn, after all! Bramblethorn is an evil creature for sure. I think in this fic I'll be getting deeper into his psyche than I've dared to go before. (A daunting prospect!)  
  
GamgeeFest - The sooner we get to Bramby getting his grimy hands on Frodo the better? We're getting closer all the while. Meanwhile, everyone is pitching in to help the Bucklanders, but to what avail?  
  
Iorhael - You're probably remembering Aiden because of the hobbits going to Bree. Unfortunately, he's part of a different series, so you won't find his kindly presence here.   
  
Sam - Thanks for joining us! I'm glad you found time to read my other stories and enjoyed them. I like letting Merry's more serious side come out from time to time. He's got a great sense of humor, but there's more to him beyond that. Sam's going to want to give Bramblethorn a good beating, believe me!  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
  
  
Note: AU warning. I've chosen to ignore Sam's remark in the film, "If I take one more step it will be the farthest from home I've ever been." He's a big boy now, and I'm going to let him out of the front yard.   
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Chapter 4 - Decisions  
  
Frodo could not recall having ever seen such a somber mood prevail at harvest time in Buckland. Instead of having been stamped down by the feet of many dancers, the grass in the courtyard stood upright and the trees were devoid of colorful lanterns and banners. Even the children playing in the shade seemed to be quieter and more subdued. Merry and Saradoc were walking up the path to greet them as Sam brought the wagon to a halt.   
  
"Thank you so much for your generous effort, Frodo," Saradoc said as Frodo and Sam climbed down from the seat.   
  
"I know it isn't much, but I suppose every little bit helps," Frodo answered, looking at the load of sacks he and Sam had brought.   
  
"Thanks to you and the Thain, we've made up the loss of perhaps one of the damaged fields," Merry informed him. "We were able to grow enough in the second planting to make up for one more."   
  
Sam frowned. "Don't that still leave you short by a good bit?"  
  
"Yes, Sam, it does," Saradoc said ruefully. "All of us will likely find our belts a notch tighter come next harvest."  
  
Merry escorted Frodo and Sam to their rooms while Saradoc found a stable boy and a couple of apprentices to unload the grain and see to the pony. As he ushered Sam and Frodo through the doorway Merry suggested, "Why don't we all rest for a bit and then have tea in the study?"  
  
"That sounds splendid, Merry," Frodo responded as he eased himself into a chair. "I imagine a short rest would do us all some good."   
  
"You go ahead, Mr. Frodo," Sam suggested. "I'll get us unpacked." Sam proceeded to unload Frodo's pack and stow his spare clothing carefully in the armoire, smoothing out wrinkles and straightening collars. Frodo lay down on the bed and within minutes was dozing comfortably.   
  
~*~Several hours later~*~  
  
Merry tapped lightly on the door of Frodo's room. It was almost time for tea, and time to wake those who were napping. Sam opened the door and quietly admitted Merry.   
  
"Is he still asleep?" Merry asked.  
  
"Yes, Mr. Merry. I imagine he was more tired than he let on." Sam shook his head slightly. "He's been worryin' a lot about all of you here."  
  
Merry smiled and nodded. It was just like Frodo to spend his energy thinking about others. They walked quietly into the room, and Frodo was indeed still asleep, eyes peacefully closed and hair falling carelessly across the pillow.   
  
"He looks so calm and restful, it pains me to wake him," Sam said as he looked down at the sleeping hobbit.   
  
"But if you don't wake him and he misses tea, you'll likely hear about it, I suspect," Merry said with a wry grin.   
  
Sam nodded and shook Frodo's arm lightly. "Mr. Frodo? It's time to wake up an' go to tea." Sam gave Frodo another light shake and Frodo opened his eyes reluctantly.   
  
"I must have been more tired than I thought," he said as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Have I made us late?"  
  
"Not at all," Merry answered. "But tea will be ready soon, so I suspect we had better be as well."   
  
Frodo rose and went to the washbasin. He splashed some cool water on his face and combed his fingers through his hair to settle it. A quick straightening of his weskit and he pronounced himself ready.   
  
Esmeralda and Saradoc were already in the study when Sam, Merry and Frodo arrived. Sam bowed politely to Esmeralda and she hugged Frodo in a warm embrace. "It's so good of you to come, Frodo," she said. "And Sam, thank you for accompanying him and for all your help."   
  
Sam blushed a little and said, "You're welcome, Mistress Esmeralda."   
  
After a little light conversation, the subject turned inevitably to the problem of the poor harvest. "Everyone has been supportive and generous, but with how little they had to spare, I fear we're still far short of the mark," Saradoc said grimly.   
  
Merry decided it was time to press the issue of further action. "My offer to go to Bree still stands," he reminded his father. "I don't see any other clear alternatives."   
  
Esmeralda gave Merry a worried look. "You know how I feel about that idea," she told him, a stern note coming into her voice. "Bree is home to some fine folk, but it's just not the Shire - "  
  
"The Shire has given all it can to help us, Esmie," Saradoc put in, reasoning with his wife. "It pains me as well that we must look outside our borders for what we need, but I fear there is no other choice save enduring hunger."  
  
Frodo listened with concern. Merry had said nothing in his last letter about going on a journey to Bree. "Merry, are you sure you want to go?" he asked, searching his cousin's face for the truth.   
  
"I'm no more eager to seek outside the Shire for assistance than anyone here, but I will go to Bree to buy the things we need. I know I'm up to the task." Merry looked at Frodo earnestly. "I should like to take someone with me, to help with the transport of the grain back to Buckland, however."  
  
Frodo knew an invitation when he received one. He smiled at his cousin and nodded. "Then I shall go with you," he offered. "It will make me feel as if I am actually being of some assistance."   
  
Sam listened with dismay. There was no chance that he would allow Frodo to go outside the borders of the Shire without him. "Beggin' your pardons, sirs, but if Mr. Frodo is goin' to Bree, I'm goin' too." He looked pleadingly at Frodo, hoping Frodo would change his mind about the expedition.   
  
"I wouldn't think of going without you, Sam," Frodo said gladly.   
  
"I wish you wouldn't think of goin' at all," Sam said glumly. "You belong here in the Shire, safe and sound, where there ain't nothin' to harm you."  
  
"And shall I not be safe and sound in the company of you and Merry?" Frodo argued gently. "You mustn't worry so, Sam. The garden will wait, too. This is much more important."  
  
Sam nodded. He supposed it was, but that didn't ease the knot of apprehension growing inside of him.   
  
"Where is Pippin these days?" Frodo said, changing the subject. "I haven't seen him for some time."  
  
"Pippin is trapped in Tuckborough due to his cousin Violet's impending wedding," Merry informed him. "I think he would rather go to Bree than be there, but there it is."   
  
Frodo laughed. He could just picture Pippin moping about the Great Smials and trying to avoid his sisters and fussy cousin Violet. Violet was a bit on the irritating side to begin with, and with her nerves jangled from wedding preparations, any sensible fellow would best avoid her.   
  
"So poor Pip will have to miss this adventure, it seems," Frodo remarked, thinking back to the times they had all been together through a crisis. "It's probably better that he does. I don't know that Bree is ready for Peregrin Took."   
  
General laughter rose at the statement, but Merry was quick to defend his younger cousin. "He was help enough a couple of years ago in Bywater."   
  
Frodo stopped laughing, and Merry immediately regretted having brought up the subject. "He ought not to have been a part of all that, as glad as I was for his presence," Frodo told Merry.   
  
"We had no way of knowing anything like that would happen," Merry defended. "We were just on a routine visit to Bag End, after all." Things had turned out to be far from routine that visit, when Merry and Pippin arrived at Bag End to find Frodo missing and no clue to his whereabouts.   
  
Frodo sighed. "You do have a point. Pip is old enough to travel with you to visit me, and none of us could have foreseen what happened."  
  
"I should have, somehow," Sam berated himself. "If I had been takin' proper care - "  
  
"Sam, you take more than proper care of me, and you know it. I'll not have you blaming yourself for anything. Besides, it's all in the past now." Frodo regarded his gardener fondly. "Is that why you're so nervous about our going to Bree?"  
  
Sam looked up at Frodo levelly. "I'm nervous about anythin' that involves you bein' anywhere but home, where I can make sure nothin' harms you. Anythin' that wants to will have to get past me first."  
  
"Dear Sam, is that not true of things whether or not we're at Bag End?" Sam's fierce protection of Frodo did not begin and end at Bag End's doorstep.   
  
"I suppose so, sir, but I feel much better in a place I know. At home I know where all the corners are an' what's around each of them."  
  
"Going outside the borders of the Shire can be a dangerous business indeed," Saradoc said thoughtfully. "A hobbit who does must have his wits about him and his eyes open for trouble. The Bree folk themselves are not so terrible, but all manner of strange travelers appear in the village, and their intentions are not always good."   
  
"You're not thinking of refusing to send me, are you?" Merry asked his father a little defensively. "Who else would you consider more able?"  
  
"Easy, Meriadoc," Saradoc said calmly. "I am not refusing you. I merely wish to caution you, and suggest that you remain wary."  
  
"Is the decision made, then? Are Frodo, Sam and I to go to Bree to purchase grain for Buckland?" Merry waited for his father to answer.   
  
"If you are willing, I will consent to the journey," Saradoc said, acknowledging the worried expression on his wife's face with a quick squeeze of her hand. "I will send you with the proper funds and letters to introduce you to any suppliers. The seal of Buckland should be enough to open a few doors for you."   
  
"When do we leave?" Frodo asked, his mind already set on making the trip.  
  
"There's no reason to wait, is there?" Merry asked, glancing from one face to the next. "We may as well depart on the morrow."  
  
And so it was settled that Frodo, Merry and Sam would leave at first light, with what supplies the journey required and an otherwise empty wagon or two to be loaded with grain. The Gamgees' wagon would be left at Brandy Hall in favor of a much larger one that would better carry the number of sacks that would have to be loaded into it.   
  
~*~ Dawn in Buckland ~*~  
  
The sun was only beginning to lighten the Eastern sky when Merry climbed up into the seat of his wagon and took the reins. Sam and Frodo seated themselves aboard the second, and the hobbits left Buckland amid waving and admonishments to be careful and to return as soon as possible.   
  
Bree was a few days' journey from the Shire, and Sam sat silently tallying up the number of days they would be gone. It would take time to get there and back, and who could tell how long it would take to find and purchase the amount of grain they were in need of? They could easily be gone a full two weeks or more. The garden would be -   
  
"Beautiful."   
  
"What was that, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked as Frodo's voice broke his reverie.  
  
"I said the sunrise is beautiful, Sam." And Frodo was right. The sky was beginning to come alive with color, from pinks and reds to yellows and oranges, all mixing and intertwining in bands of cloud and haze. The sun was beginning to peek through the scattered clouds and would soon chase them away over the horizon.   
  
"I suppose it is, sir," Sam answered, allowing himself to stop worrying for the moment.   
  
"I do love the Shire," Frodo remarked. "I suspect I shall love it even more after being away from it for a short time."   
  
"I reckon you're right, Mr. Frodo," Sam replied, settling back against the seat of the wagon. "We ain't but reached the border yet an' I miss it already."  
  
The sun completed its emergence and shone warmly upon the travelers. The steady motion of the wagon and the soothing sunlight soon lulled Frodo to sleep, and he leaned comfortably against Sam as they rode. Sam took care not to let the wheels of the wagon slip into the worst ruts in the road. It was an earlier hour than that to which Frodo was accustomed, and Sam was loath to disturb what rest Frodo could find on the journey.   
  
With Bree ahead and the Shire behind, the hobbits forged on, hoping to succeed in their task. If they could procure enough grain to finish filling the storehouses in Buckland, the grim specter of hunger would be banished and all would be well. If they failed, Buckland would face a trial indeed.   
  
~*~ To be continued ~*~ 


	6. Convergence

Hobbitfeet13 - Why go deeper into the psyche of my villain? Morbid curiosity, perhaps. My thought is that maybe there is more to Bramblethorn than just greed, lust, etc. There might be things he keeps beneath the surface that explain some of his behavior as well. He is basically bad news, though, without a doubt!  
  
Lily V - Thanks for your e-mail! Bramblethorn seems to have his own little fanclub going. Frodo is definitely in for quite a time ahead, and Merry and Sam will face a certain amount of adversity too.   
  
Aratlithiel1 - Bramblethorn awaits, indeed! Right now he has no idea of just who is coming to Bree to try to ease Buckland's burden, but he's soon to find out!  
  
Tavion - Bramblethorn and Frodo are soon to meet, face to face. It was sad when they had to burn the fields. All that work and care for nothing!  
  
GamgeeFest - The time is soon to come when our heroes and villains will meet again. Sam is always ready to look after Frodo, but he does wish they weren't going to leave the Shire. I wanted to have the characters reflecting on how good the Shire is, because what's to come is far from it!  
  
CuriousCat - It can take a few chapters to get a story going when you start at the actual beginning, but I tend to think in a linear fashion. Much easier to have the reader follow the characters every step of the way than to try to explain later how they got into the particular situation. Time to start getting our 'old friends' together!  
  
Esterification - Sam will be as protective of Frodo as circumstances allow. (Sounds ominous, doesn't it?)   
  
Endymion2 - Happy belated birthday! I would have liked to have Pippin be more of the story, but he just kind of seemed to be there and not doing anything when I tried. He will show up briefly at the end of the tale, but right now he's trying to hide from fussy wedding - stressed family.  
  
Sam - Frodo is heading off into who knows what, and Sam doesn't like it at all! Thanks again for your kind words regarding this and my other stories. Hope you enjoy the rest!  
  
Trust No One - The calm before the storm is nearly at an end. The clouds are gathering! There will indeed be far worse things ahead for Frodo than a pleasant sunrise. Angst ahoy!  
  
KT SHY - Merry didn't mean to dredge up old memories by mentioning Bywater, but he is fond of his little Took cousin. Pippin will show up toward the end of the story for a short time.  
  
Aelfgifu - Guess who's back in this chapter? Yup. Your favorite bad boy!  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Chapter 5 - Convergence  
  
It was early evening when the hobbits reached the inn. Three and a half days of travel had left them weary and glad to be facing the prospect of a comfortable bed and a good meal. The inn was small and on the edge of the town, but Saradoc had suggested it because it had the only yard large enough to hold the two wagons. The ponies were unhitched and stabled, and the hobbits shown to a comfortable room.   
  
Merry dumped his pack on one of the beds and pulled out a change of clothing. "The first order of business, in my opinion, is a bath and a meal. Are there any objections?"  
  
"You'll hear none from me, Mr. Merry," Sam replied as he emptied Frodo's pack. "I could use a scrubbin' myself."  
  
"If we take our meal in the common room, we might be able to speak with a few locals about the possibility of purchasing the grain," Frodo suggested. "There might be some farmers here or someone who knows a few of them."  
  
"I agree," Merry said. "We may as well start here."   
  
Following quick baths, the hobbits made their way to the common room and seated themselves at a table in a quieter corner. The innkeeper ambled up to take their order. When he told Frodo the price of the bread, Frodo blinked and said, "I'm not complaining, really, but that seems quite high."  
  
The innkeeper nodded. "I know, sir. I hate havin' to charge my customers such prices, but grain is in short supply in Bree, and bread is hard to come by right now."  
  
Frodo gave Merry a worried glance. "Then our journey here may have been for naught."  
  
The innkeeper looked puzzled. "Why would you say that, Master Hobbit?"  
  
"There has been trouble in the Eastfarthing, and a good portion of our grain crop was lost this season," Merry responded. "We've come to Bree in hopes of purchasing any surplus we might find."  
  
The innkeeper shook his head. "I wish you luck, I do. But if there's any to be found in Bree, like as not it won't be much an' it will be a costly venture."  
  
"We thank you for the information, sir," Merry said, ordering a round of ales to go with their meal.   
  
When the innkeeper had gone, the hobbits sat in silence for a few moments, none of them wanting to speak of the disappointment they were meeting with so early in their endeavor. Finally, Frodo spoke up. "Perhaps things are not so dire as he says," he ventured hopefully. "We may have to pay a high price if there's a shortage in Bree, or perhaps we'll have to travel farther still."  
  
"I should like to ask a few more of the folk here before abandoning Bree as an option," Merry said thoughtfully. "What may seem the truth to one person may be otherwise to another. Let's hope the innkeeper is exaggerating."   
  
"I just hope I never see them dratted weeds again in all my days," Sam said, his voice tight with consternation. "I know the look of them now, an they'll not get past Samwise Gamgee."   
  
"Hear, hear!" Merry said, raising his tankard.   
  
Across the room, a stocky hobbit had been watching the trio intently. He paid the innkeeper and left the inn, walking out into the darkening street. These might just be those Bucklanders the boss was waiting for, Monto thought excitedly. They had mentioned the Eastfarthing, and Buckland lay in that part of the Shire. They had lost their grain crops and were looking to buy. He would surely be rewarded for being the first to come back with good news!  
  
Monto hurried through the streets until he reached another inn, and he entered the common room. Searching the faces of those gathered there, he found Bramblethorn in the corner, sipping an ale and watching the other patrons with a sharp eye.   
  
"I think our friends have showed up," Monto said as he seated himself.   
  
"Do tell," Bramblethorn invited.   
  
"Three hobbits came into the Travelers' Rest a little while ago. They was talkin' to the innkeeper 'bout the price of bread an' they was pretty unhappy when he told them grain was short 'round here."  
  
Bramblethorn sat up straighter and gave Monto his full attention. "Go on," he urged.  
  
"They said they was from the Eastfarthing an' that they'd lost their crop an' wanted to buy."  
  
A big grin formed on Bramblethorn's face at the news. "Good work, Monto. I want to see these travelers myself. Let's go."  
  
With that, Bramblethorn paid the bill and followed Monto back out into the street. They made their way to the small inn where Frodo, Sam and Merry still remained in the common room, chatting with the other folk there. Concealing himself in the shadows, Bramblethorn peered in the direction where Monto was pointing.  
  
Across the room in a corner, there sat none other than Meriadoc Brandybuck, Samwise Gamgee and - Frodo Baggins! Bramblethorn could hardly believe his eyes. He frowned as a thought came to him. He and those hobbits had a history of bitter enmity between them. When they found out they would have to go to Bramblethorn for the grain, they would likely refuse and leave Bree for more promising territory.   
  
Bramblethorn's gaze fell inevitably on Frodo. In the two years that had passed, Frodo had not seemed to change at all, he mused. He was still the pale creature with the dark curls falling softly around his face, and the soulful blue eyes. Bramblethorn remembered the softness of those silky locks as he had touched them, and an involuntary shudder of pleasure ran through him. Whether Frodo had wanted him or not, he had wanted Frodo, with a desire so strong it had nearly rent him in two. But Frodo had refused him, refused him with a vehemence that had stung him harshly and deeply, and - although he was loath to admit it - stung him still. A moment later, Bramblethorn realized that he knew exactly how to ensure that Meriadoc Brandybuck would purchase the grain from him.   
  
He pulled Monto deeper into the shadows near the door of the common room. "I have a task for you," he said in a conspiratorial whisper. "Find Anson and come back here. I want you to bring me Frodo Baggins."  
  
Bramblethorn pointed toward the three hobbits at the table. "Your task may not be as simple as some I have given you. The stout one is Frodo's gardener, and they are very... close, you might say." He leered suggestively. "It is unlikely that you will have many opportunities to separate them, but you must do so. Frodo is the pale, dark - haired one. Handle him as you must, but don't damage him too severely." He reached into a pocket and pulled out a scrap of parchment, grabbed the quill that lay on the innkeeper's desk, and scribbled a note. "Once you have taken him, leave this note in the innkeeper's care," Bramblethorn instructed as he handed the note to Monto.   
  
They slipped back outside the inn unseen, and went their separate ways. Monto made for the inn where Anson had been sent to watch and listen, and Bramblethorn went back to his smial to prepare to receive his guest.   
  
~*~ The Travelers' Rest ~*~  
  
Monto pointed at Frodo and told Anson, "That's the one he wants. He didn't say to bring the others, so we'd better find a way to split them up." They continued to watch for a while, but the three hobbits never seemed to be more than a few paces away from one another. Bramblethorn was right. That stupid gardener was sticking to Frodo like a treewee to a high branch.   
  
"Might just have to wait until he goes to the privy," Anson suggested. Surely that gardener wouldn't follow him there.   
  
Monto nodded thoughtfully. "Why don't you go out there an' wait."  
  
Anson wrinkled his nose and gave Monto a dirty look. "Why me?" he grumbled. "Stinks out there."  
  
"It was your idea," Monto reminded him. "You wait out there, and find someplace where nobody will see you. I'll follow him out when he goes." Anson grumbled, but went outside and around to the back of the inn where a small shack housing a privy stood in the shadows.   
  
~*~  
  
Merry took another swallow of his ale as he scanned the room. They had spoken to almost everyone there, but had heard no better news about the availability of grain. Comments ranged from the straight - forward "it's hard to come by" to the sarcastic "dragon scales would be cheaper and more plentiful right now". They had asked the other hobbits and the big folk alike, but no one seemed to know of a farmer with a surplus available.   
  
"Bad news seems to be the order of the day," Merry grumbled to Sam and Frodo. "If we don't turn up something by this time tomorrow, I say we continue on toward Archet, or maybe Staddle."  
  
Frodo nodded. "There doesn't seem to be much point in us staying around here if no one can help us," he remarked.   
  
Sam decided he would be just as happy to leave Bree on general principles. He wasn't accustomed to being around all those big folk, and the hobbits he'd met seemed different from the folk back in the Shire. They seemed more worldly somehow, and less inclined to smile and laugh as readily as the folk back in Hobbiton.   
  
"If you'll pardon me, the ale is making its presence felt," Frodo said as he rose from the table. Sam started to get up too, and Frodo laughed. "Really, Sam, I know this place makes you nervous, but I can go to the privy on my own."   
  
Merry had an amused expression on his face. Sam had become ever more protective of Frodo in the past few years, and Merry wondered if the gardener ever truly slept. He pictured Sam with one eye open and trained upon his master at all times. "I'm not getting in the middle of this one," he remarked and sipped his ale again.   
  
"And well you shouldn't, cousin," Frodo said, gently mocking. "Just give me a few moments to do what I must, and I'll return to you."   
  
Sam sat down again. If Frodo didn't want to be escorted, he wouldn't press the issue. This inn seemed to be a fairly quiet place, and folk had been in and out between the privy and the common room all night without any sign of a mishap.   
  
Frodo made for the door, his stride confident and brisk. The privy wasn't far, and Frodo saw no sign of anyone around as he approached it. He stepped inside and relieved himself, thinking that he might have just one more ale. Merry had bought the last round, and it was now Frodo's turn.   
  
Something moved outside in the shadows as Frodo fastened his breeches and emerged from the privy. He never saw his assailant, but only felt someone grab him from behind, spin him around and slam him face first against the privy's outer wall.   
  
"Don't make a sound," a voice threatened in his ear. Frodo was stunned by the impact of his body against the wall, but began to recover as a wave of panic washed over him. If his assailant meant to rob him, he would be disappointed. Frodo had left his money inside with Merry and Sam.   
  
He gasped and tried to twist out of Anson's grip. "I carry nothing of value! Please - "  
  
"I said, keep quiet!" Anson slammed Frodo up against the wall again, knocking his forehead against the wooden surface. Frodo heard footsteps coming up behind them and felt a flash of relief, believing help was on the way. Help was on the way, but not for him.   
  
"Quick, Anse, before the others come lookin'," Monto said as he pulled something out of his pack.   
  
Panic seized Frodo again and he began to struggle in earnest despite the painful throbbing of his forehead. He began to shout for help, but a hand clamped over his mouth and muffled the sound. A piece of cloth was stuffed into his mouth and the fabric of a dark hood blotted out his vision as it was pulled down over his head.   
  
Monto and Anson pulled Frodo deeper into the shadows as he continued to struggle. Monto backhanded him and Frodo felt himself starting to weaken. He felt rough cords being wound around his wrists and ankles, and the impact of wood against his body as he was lifted and thrown into what must have been a cart or wagon.   
  
Monto hid Frodo's prone form under a blanket and climbed into the back beside him. Frodo tried to move, to twist out from under the blanket and dislodge the hood that blocked his vision. Monto responded by slapping him again, hard enough to stun him. "You keep still and I won't have to mess you up," he threatened. Frodo's head spun and he allowed himself to go limp rather than endure any more abuse from his captors.   
  
Satisfied that Frodo was secure, Monto handed the note Bramblethorn had written to Anson. "Put this on the innkeeper's desk," he said. A few moments later, Anson returned and climbed up into the seat to take the reins.   
  
The cart turned into the street and rattled away, making for the hills above the village where Rushford Bramblethorn awaited the delivery of his prize.  
  
~*~  
  
Sam began to fidget when Frodo did not return immediately. He glanced at Merry, who turned his gaze to the door. "I'm goin' to check on Mr. Frodo," Sam said and rose from the table.   
  
Merry decided to follow. If something were amiss, it wouldn't hurt for the two of them to be together. They emerged into the area behind the inn, and scanned the darkened space with wary eyes. They saw no movement and heard nothing as they approached the privy. Sam knocked on the door. "Mr. Frodo?" he called. The door swung open when he pushed on it, and the privy was deserted.   
  
"Somethin's wrong, Mr. Merry," Sam said tightly, feeling fear crawling slowly up his spine.   
  
"Maybe he went back inside by the back way and we missed each other," Merry suggested. He and Sam went around to the back entrance of the inn, but Frodo wasn't there when they walked in.   
  
Merry caught sight of the innkeeper and hurried toward him. "Pardon me," he said to the man. "We're looking for the other hobbit who came in with us. About my height, but slighter build, dark hair and a fair complexion," Merry reminded the innkeeper. "Have you seen him in the last few minutes?"   
  
The innkeeper seemed to consider for a moment. "I remember him as you describe him, but the last time I saw him he was in your company." Something caught the innkeeper's eye and he picked up the piece of paper from the desktop. "Someone's left a message for one of the guests, it seems." He read the name that was scrawled on the back of the note, and looked at Merry. He recalled Merry's name from when he had signed them in for their room. "It's for you."  
  
Merry looked at him uncertainly and accepted the paper. Sam hovered over his shoulder as Merry unfolded it and began to read the contents.  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
My dear Masters Brandybuck and Gamgee,  
  
By now you must surely be missing one of your party. I have him. Frodo is with me, and if you care to see him, you will follow the instructions I list below.  
  
Wait for my fellows to meet you at the inn at midnight. They will bring you to meet with me and we will discuss both your current difficulties and, of course, Frodo.   
  
As to the subject of Frodo, I have asked that my people bring him to me undamaged. If you wish him to remain so, you will be on your best behavior. Make no mention of this to anyone. If I receive any uninvited visitors looking for Frodo, he will be in grave peril. Need I say more?   
  
Best regards,   
  
Rushford Bramblethorn.   
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Sam looked at Merry with an expression that betrayed all his emotions - fear, horror, and a hundred other things that had no names. Merry might as well have been a mirror, for the same things shone in his eyes and he recovered his composure with difficulty. The innkeeper was looking at them curiously. He hadn't got a glimpse of the note himself, but the reactions of its recipients made him wonder what it had said. "Thank you, sir," Merry said to the innkeeper, noticing the man's intent gaze. He drew Sam aside quickly.  
  
"Bramblethorn has Mr. Frodo again!" Sam gasped. "I've failed him, Mr. Merry! He can't ever forgive me! I don't deserve to be forgiven," Sam said miserably.   
  
"Sam, you didn't know. You are not to blame, do you hear me?" Merry grasped Sam's forearms and held them fast, staring into his stricken face. "We must get Frodo back, no matter the cost. I'm frightened for him too, if that makes any difference."   
  
Merry tried to calm himself and think of the reasons why Bramblethorn would kidnap Frodo and then demand to meet with the two of them. "There must be something Bramblethorn wants of us, otherwise he would never have sent this note. If all he wanted was Frodo, we would be standing here none the wiser to his fate."  
  
Sam nodded, forcing himself to calm down. If Merry could do it, he could too. "But what could he be up to, Mr. Merry? You know what happened the last time that rotten stinker got his hands on Mr. Frodo. I can't bear it, I tell you!"  
  
"I don't know," Merry said, reading the note again. "I know it might endanger all of us, but I think we should keep this appointment."  
  
Sam didn't need to be convinced. "If he has Mr. Frodo, I'm going," he said resolutely. "If I had been more careful, he never would have - "  
  
"Should you be expected to follow Frodo to the privy and stand guard?" Merry asked, more harshly than he had intended. He took a deep breath and continued in a calmer tone. "Bramblethorn planned this. He must have seen us here or received word that we've come, and he kidnapped Frodo just to draw us to him for his purpose, be it what it may."  
  
"If you think it's best that we meet with him, I'm willin', Mr. Merry, for Mr. Frodo's sake if nothin' else," Sam replied mournfully. He felt as if a red - hot dagger had been thrust into his heart of hearts. "I'd rather it be my fist meetin' his face, if you follow me."  
  
  
  
"I don't doubt it for a moment, Sam," Merry said, trying to soothe Sam and set his own jangled thoughts in order. "We must find out what Bramblethorn is up to. Unless we start with that information, we have no hope of helping Frodo."  
  
"So we meet that stinker's hired thugs an' let them take us to Mr. Frodo?" Sam was having a hard time dealing with the idea of standing idly by and letting Bramblethorn maintain the upper hand.   
  
"We have no choice," Merry informed him. "We don't know where he's taken Frodo, and if we're to help him we must find out. When I asked you and Frodo to come with me to Bree, I never imagined anything like this would happen."  
  
Sam suddenly realized that Merry was feeling as much to blame for Frodo's abduction as he was. "I suppose none of us could have known," he admitted reluctantly.   
  
"No, Sam. There was no way we could have," Merry answered, trying to forgive himself. When Bramblethorn had been cast out from the Shire, word had never come back as to his whereabouts. The first time he had been ousted, he had gone to Bree, but no one had reported his returning to the village. "We must meet them at midnight tonight then," he concluded.   
  
"Just a couple of hours from now, if I reckon correctly," Sam said, eyeing the moon as it rose in the sky. "You understand, I would have thrashed them if I'd seen them, an' I may yet, if I get the chance," Sam said gravely.   
  
"I would race you for the first punch," Merry responded. The gardener and the future Master of Buckland exchanged glances and confirmed that they stood upon the same ground.   
  
"Midnight then?" Sam said.   
  
"Right," Merry replied, his jaw set in a hard line.   
  
~*~ To be continued ~*~ 


	7. Ultimatum

Trust No One - Yes, that awful creature once again has found a way to get Frodo into his clutches. Poor thing!  
  
Hobbitfeet13 - I can't seem to keep Frodo out of trouble, can I? Sam and Merry are going to be mighty upset, all right. Pippin is safe this time around as he won't be appearing until the end of the story.  
  
Tavion - In this story you will see a more three dimensional Bramblethorn. I feel as you do, regarding Bramblethorn's strange brand of charm. He grows on you in a very odd way, doesn't he?  
  
Camellia Gamgee - Took - Sorry the site wouldn't let you post your review. It's been happening a bit lately. Now we're really going to get into the nitty gritty of this tale!  
  
Sam - Sam does need a hug, and you can bet Frodo will too! Bramblethorn would be more than happy to oblige. Sam is going to be right by Frodo's side forevermore, isn't he?  
  
Endymion2 - Isn't Bramby just lovely? You'd be surprised how much fun the old boy will have!  
  
Esterification - Bramblethorn is a smug, self - satisfied so - n - so, isn't he?  
  
Iorhael - Hope you had an enjoyable Christmas! Let's get our boys together, shall we?  
  
Heartofahobbit - Bramblethorn is evil, isn't he? How does he think taking Frodo prisoner will help him score a big profit? You'll see!   
  
Aelfgifu - You're not the only one who had trouble leaving a review. Bramby and I have plans for Frodo, we do! What they are you'll have to wait and see!  
  
GamgeeFest - If you thought the last chapter was angsty, just wait. The wheels are still turning in Bramby's head, and he's cooking up some mayhem for sure!  
  
FrodoBaggins87 - Sam is very protective of Frodo, and his seeming inability to keep him safe will cause a great deal of anguish to him in chapters to come.  
  
Hang on, everyone. Here's the chapter you've been waiting for, and it's a long one!  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Chapter 6 - Ultimatum  
  
Bramblethorn raised his eyes from the book on his desk to see Anson and Monto coming in carrying their captive. "Excellent," he crowed. "You fellows have earned your pay this evening. Put him down." Although he couldn't see Frodo's face because of the concealing hood, Bramblethorn felt something stir within him. Oh, to look into those amazing blue eyes again!   
  
Monto and Anson obeyed, laying Frodo's prone form on a sofa. Bramblethorn approached and pulled away the hood that covered Frodo's head. "Wake up, now, Frodo dear. Open your eyes."   
  
Frodo was semi - conscious, and he groaned as Bramblethorn shook him. In his dazed condition, Frodo had not yet identified the voice that spoke his name. "Look at me, Frodo," Bramblethorn commanded, giving Frodo another shake.   
  
That voice was familiar, yet half - forgotten, a thing Frodo had pushed as far toward the back of his mind as he had been able. Recognition came slowly through the haze and Frodo squeezed his eyes closed to avoid gazing into the face of a nightmare come to life.   
  
Bramblethorn pulled the gag away and cupped Frodo's face in his hands. "I said, LOOK at me!" he snarled.   
  
Frodo knew he couldn't keep his eyes closed forever, and that he was in danger of further injury if he did not obey. He slowly opened his eyes and waited for them to focus on the piercing gaze and sardonic grin of his old enemy.   
  
"Ahh, good. There are the lovely blue eyes that I've seen so often in my dreams. I see you have met Anson and Monto," Bramblethorn gestured to his hired help. "They were kind enough to see that you made your way here."  
  
"Where am I?" Frodo mumbled blearily.   
  
"You're in my home, love. You're to be my guest for the time being." Bramblethorn gestured around the well - appointed room. "As you can see, I've done quite well since we last met."  
  
"You lied to me," Frodo whispered.  
  
"Lied? What did I lie about, love?" Bramblethorn cast an amused glance at Frodo.  
  
"You said you wouldn't seek me out again," Frodo reminded him.  
  
"Ahh, but I haven't sought you out," Bramblethorn replied, smiling. "You have come to me this time."  
  
Frodo was recovering more of his wits and the statement spurred his anger. "I didn't come to Bree to see you, Bramblethorn," he spat, struggling to sit up on the sofa.   
  
Bramblethorn grabbed Frodo and pulled him upright to sit with his back against the cushions. "Whether you know it or not, you did, Frodo. You see, I am aware of your errand. I also happen to be the only one in Bree with a substantial supply of grain stored and ready to sell."  
  
Frodo stared at him, dumbfounded. "You? But how - "  
  
"When I returned to Bree, I had only a small portion of my wealth remaining," Bramblethorn explained. "I lost everything else when I was exiled, thanks to you. Well, I've invested carefully and built an organization that has become quite prosperous. The land I do not own, I control by means of payment to the farmers for their crops. I give them more than anyone else, so they sell to me."  
  
Frodo remembered the innkeeper's words about a grain shortage. "There's no shortage of grain in Bree, is there? You have it all, and you're forcing people to pay you double for it."  
  
"I'm not forcing them to buy from me, although I will admit, I have encouraged it." Frodo didn't want to think about Bramblethorn's methods of encouragement.   
  
"So what do you want with me?" Frodo asked, dreading the answer. "Why didn't you just send your people to sell us the grain?"  
  
Bramblethorn laughed. "Would you have bought it from me?"   
  
Frodo saw his point. "No. I would have told you to take it and - " Anson stepped forward and slapped him.   
  
"Insolence is not recommended," Bramblethorn gloated. "I have told your cousin and your gardener that you are here. If they want to see you again, they'll make a substantial purchase of grain."  
  
"You're unbelievable," Frodo said indignantly. "It won't work. They'll tell someone what you've done."   
  
"Not unless they want to seriously endanger you, they won't," Bramblethorn said nastily. "I've made it quite clear that your safety depends on their actions. For your sake, they had better believe it." He traced the line of Frodo's jaw with one finger.   
  
"You're even more wicked than I thought," Frodo said, turning away from Bramblethorn sullenly.   
  
"Am I?" Bramblethorn smirked. "Glad to know you're impressed. You know, had you not refused me in the first place, none of this would have come about."   
  
"I didn't want you," Frodo said plainly, "and that has not changed."  
  
Bramblethorn shook his head with mock sadness. "You don't know what you're missing." He turned to Monto and Anson. "Please show our guest to his quarters."   
  
Monto untied Frodo's ankles while Anson hauled him to his feet. Frodo protested as they dragged him from the room and down the hallway. They paused outside a door and Anson pulled it open to reveal a small, windowless interior room that might have been used for storage at one time, but was now converted to something like a guest room. There was a bed, a table and a chair, and an old trunk sitting against a far wall.   
  
"If it was up to me, I'd have dumped you in the cellar," Anson growled, untying Frodo's hands and shoving him into the room. Frodo spun around only to find that the door was already closed, and he heard the click of a bolt sliding into place.   
  
Fury flared within him. He flung himself at the door and slammed his fists against it repeatedly. "Damn you, Bramblethorn! You have no right to do this! Release me, blast you! BRAMBLETHORN!!!"   
  
Frodo's shouts carried down the hallway, and Bramblethorn rolled his eyes at his henchmen. "I told you he was stubborn," he said, fixing them with a steely gaze. "Shut him up."  
  
"Yes, sir," Monto said, and he and Anson left the room, pausing only long enough for Anson to grab his pack and sling it over one shoulder. They made their way down the hall and stood outside the locked door for a moment. In a swift motion, Monto unlocked it and flung it open. Frodo was taken by surprise as the two stormed in and grabbed him.  
  
"Let me go!" Frodo snarled, thrashing in their grip. They ignored him and shoved him down into the chair where they bound him tightly. Anson gagged him again, and Frodo was left immobile, breathing hard and glaring up at Bramblethorn's thugs.   
  
Only now did they answer his demand to be freed. "Shut up," Monto said, and clouted Frodo solidly. Spots danced before Frodo's eyes as he watched them go, leaving him in the little room. A single candle burned on the table, but there was no light otherwise. No windows, and only a locked door for an escape route, Frodo thought grimly.   
  
He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself, testing his bonds for any sign of weakness. He soon gave up the effort, realizing that Bramblethorn's goons knew their work. As his breathing slowed, weariness stole over him, and when he could no longer hold his head upright, he slept.  
  
~*~  
  
Midnight came and found Sam and Merry watching the door of the inn from the table where they waited. Bramblethorn's note had said his people were to meet them at the inn, but did not specify whether they were to meet outside or in the common room. They assumed that if they waited, they would be approached.   
  
The door swung open and two stocky hobbits strode in and scanned the room. Their eyes stopped roving over the tables and chairs and their gazes came to rest on Sam and Merry. One of them made a 'follow me' gesture, and Sam and Merry rose from the table.   
  
Once they were outside the inn, Bramblethorn's henchmen turned to face Sam and Merry. "Come with us and don't try anything foolish."   
  
Sam glared at them. "You'd better be takin' us to the same place you took Mr. Frodo," he growled.   
  
"We're takin' you to see the boss," Monto told him. "He wants to talk to you, I don't. So shut up."   
  
"Hey!" Merry protested as Anson blindfolded him.   
  
"You'll see where you're goin' when you get there," he advised as Sam received similar treatment.   
  
They were led to a cart - the same one that had been used to transport Frodo - and were made to sit in the back. Monto climbed in with them. "Keep still or we'll smack you around like we did the other one," he said with a sarcastic laugh.   
  
Sam tensed and Merry's fingers brushed his arm. Now was not the time for either of them to lose their composure. They had to find out what Bramblethorn had planned and why he had taken Frodo.   
  
~*~  
  
Through the open door of the study, Bramblethorn could hear the front door slam, and he could hear what sounded like the voice of Meriadoc Brandybuck rising in a curse. Sam's voice came clearly down the hallway: "Get your filthy paws off me, you!"   
  
Tempers were clearly flaring. This ought to be every bit as entertaining and enjoyable as he'd thought. Bramblethorn smiled as Merry and Sam entered the room, flanked on either side by Monto and Anson. The blindfolds had been removed. Merry was plainly furious and Sam had murder in his eyes. Not that Bramblethorn was impressed - if either of them made any aggressive moves, they would be stopped immediately, either by the henchmen at their sides or by other means Bramblethorn had in mind. He regarded them with open contempt, his fingers steepled and his elbows propped on the desk.   
  
"Well, well. Meriadoc Brandybuck and Samwise Gamgee." He cracked his knuckles and smiled ruefully. "I see you left that absurd little Took at home this time. What a shame. I owe him too."  
  
"The only thing you owe anyone is an apology for your outrageous behavior," Merry spat angrily. "Sam and I didn't come here to watch you smirk, Bramblethorn. Where is Frodo?"  
  
"Now, now. All in good time," Bramblethorn replied. "We will get to the subject of your dear cousin soon, I assure you. But let's talk about you, shall we?" He leaned back in his chair and kicked his feet up on the desktop. "I know why you're here in Bree. You need something, and I happen to have it."  
  
"You?" Sam said incredulously. "You couldn't possibly have anything we need!"  
  
Bramblethorn laughed and Sam stiffened at the sound. "How wrong you are, my good gardener. Word travels, you know. I may have been banished from the Shire, but I still have my sources." He rose and paced back and forth in front of the other hobbits. "My sources tell me of trouble in the Eastfarthing. You haven't enough grain in storage to get the good people of Buckland through the winter."  
  
Merry glowered, pained to his soul that this noisome creature should know so much about his troubles. "And just why should that be any concern of yours?" he shot back.   
  
"Because, my dear fellow," Bramblethorn answered, "I have a good supply of grain for sale and I have a business proposition for you."  
  
Merry's eyes widened. "You mean to tell me that you expect us to purchase our grain from you, of all people? After what you've done?"   
  
"Where else will you get it, hmmm?" Bramblethorn eyed Merry as though he were not the future Master of Buckland, but rather an insect pinned to a board for dissection. "Most farmers in the Shire don't grow enough to sell to anyone else. The Great Smials are as thickly populated as Buckland and won't be able to spare enough to help you. Really, Meriadoc, are you planning to go all the way to Gondor to avoid doing business with me?"  
  
"That's not a bad idea," Merry said sarcastically.  
  
"Ahh, but now we come to the subject of Frodo," Bramblethorn said, watching both Merry and Sam flinch visibly at the mention of the name.   
  
"Where is he? What have you done to him?" Sam growled, taking a step forward. A beefy hand came to rest firmly on his shoulder, discouraging further action.  
  
"You would like to see him, wouldn't you?" Bramblethorn nodded at Monto, who left the room. "And so you shall."  
  
Merry and Sam looked at each other and swallowed hard. The last time Frodo had been in Bramblethorn's clutches, he had emerged from the experience half starved, physically injured and beset with awful memories and dark fears. This time, it was not only Bramblethorn who posed a threat to Frodo, but the two burly goons at Bramblethorn's beck and call.   
  
A few moments later there came the sound of a door slamming down a hallway, and feet stumbling nearer, steps uneven as if their owner were not completely in control of them. The uneven steps drew nearer and Monto appeared in the doorway prodding and shoving Frodo in front of him, not minding it at all as his captive's shoulder slammed into the doorframe.   
  
Frodo staggered and Monto steadied him by grabbing both his arms in a crushing grip. Frodo stood with his hands bound behind him, looking tired and disheveled but mostly uninjured except for a bruise on his cheek and a small cut on his forehead.   
  
"Sam! Merry!" he gasped and Monto silenced him with a slap to the side of the head.   
  
"Let him go, you beast!" Sam lunged forward, intent on tearing Monto to shreds.   
  
He never made it. He stopped short as Monto viciously twisted Frodo's arm. Frodo cried out in agony and writhed in the grip of Bramblethorn's henchman. Anson raised his fist as if to clout Sam for his insolence, but Bramblethorn held up a hand and he stopped. Sam didn't even notice that part of the byplay, so stricken was he at the sound of Frodo's pained cry.   
  
"Stop it! Don't hurt him!" Sam was close to tears, his composure all but shattered at the sight of Frodo in his present state.   
  
"Don't do anything stupid, and I won't have to," Bramblethorn cautioned. "The point of our conversation is this - you will purchase the grain from me, and at the price I set."   
  
"And if I refuse?" Merry challenged.  
  
"How much do you care for your cousin? Is he dear to you?" As if on cue, Anson produced a small, sharp knife and began using it to pick at the dirt underneath his nails. He stretched his hand out in front of him to inspect the result then calmly brought the blade to rest upon Frodo's throat. Frodo looked into Merry's eyes, soundlessly pleading and apologizing simultaneously.   
  
"You've made your point," Merry growled, as all color drained from his face. Sam stood frozen, unable to tear his gaze from the sharp blade that stood a hair's breadth from the tender throat of his beloved master.  
  
"How much grain do you plan to purchase?" Bramblethorn asked, suddenly all business. He passed a sheet of parchment and a quill to Merry. Merry scratched some figures on the page. He considered for a moment, crossed one out and wrote another in its place. Sam reluctantly tore his gaze from Frodo and looked over Merry's shoulder, shock registering on his features. Was the situation in Buckland really so dire?   
  
Bramblethorn took the page and eyed it appreciatively. He cocked an eyebrow as he wrote his own figures at the bottom of the page. He smiled broadly as he handed the parchment back to Merry and waited for his reaction.   
  
"There are two prices here," Merry said suspiciously. "They're both ridiculous. What are you up to, Bramblethorn?"  
  
"The first figure is the price for the grain. The second - " he paused to savor his moment. "The second is for Frodo."  
  
Sam and Merry gasped in unison. Merry recovered first, galvanized by the fear in Frodo's eyes. "You're demanding a ransom for Frodo?"  
  
"Ransom is such a negative word," Bramblethorn said with a casual wave of his hand. He walked over to stand in front of Frodo, and reached out to caress his cheek. Sam lurched forward and Anson turned the point of his blade outward, waving it directly under Sam's nose. Bramblethorn forged ahead. "To ensure that you keep your end of the bargain, Frodo will remain here until full payment is received." He eyed Merry nastily. "And I mean full payment, do you understand?"   
  
Dumbstruck, Merry nodded. When he found his voice again, he fixed Bramblethorn with an icy stare and said, "If you harm him - "  
  
"As long as Frodo behaves himself, he will not be harmed," Bramblethorn replied, "but know this, Brandybuck." He leaned forward, nose to nose with Merry, eye to eye. "Your own behavior will also be important to Frodo's continued safety."  
  
"Safety? Do you call that safe?" Merry pointed at the doorway where Monto still clutched Frodo, and Anson ran the dull back side of the blade from Frodo's earlobe down to the collar of his shirt.   
  
Bramblethorn ignored him completely. "Your mistakes, should you make any, will cost him. Dearly." Bramblethorn's gaze turned to Sam. "Any attempts to gain his premature release will be met with retaliation - against him."   
  
"I won't leave him!" Sam railed fiercely. "I won't leave him alone with the likes of you!"  
  
"You shall leave him, as you have no other choice. And he will not be alone with me, as you've said. He will also have the company of my esteemed assistants who will aid me in seeing to his needs." Bramblethorn gestured to the two burly hobbits he had hired to do his dirty work.   
  
"Sam! Please - " Frodo burst out, trying to calm his loyal friend. Monto increased the pressure on his arms and Anson drew back preparatory to backhanding him.   
  
"No, let him speak," Bramblethorn instructed, crossing his arms and regarding Frodo with interest.   
  
Frodo looked at Bramblethorn with undisguised terror. If he said the wrong thing, he would likely end up being carried from the room unconscious, if not scored fatally by Anson's blade. "Sam, there's no other way. I'm so sorry," Frodo said, trying to keep his voice steady.  
  
"But Mr. Frodo - " Sam protested, his eyes gleaming with barely restrained tears.   
  
"You can't help me by fighting this time, Sam. I'm asking you to - " Frodo fought to get the words out. "I'm asking you to leave me, just for now." Frodo know he was asking the impossible of Sam, requesting that Sam leave his side even for the time being.   
  
"But he'll hurt you, Mr. Frodo," Sam pleaded. "I promised - "  
  
"I know you promised me you wouldn't leave me, Sam, but there's no choice now. It isn't your fault." Frodo caught Merry's gaze.   
  
"This is outrageous, Frodo, and you know it!" Merry pleaded.  
  
"If my staying here will help Buckland, I shall bear it. It's too important, Merry." Frodo's eyes were downcast, not meeting those of his nearly frantic cousin.   
  
"Blast it, Frodo, Buckland will survive if I have to beg, borrow or steal to make it so!" Merry's voice wavered with emotion. "But I won't sacrifice you for a load of grain!"  
  
"Comply with my demands, and you will not have to," Bramblethorn said, giving Merry a warning look. "He stays. You go. You will return with payment in short order."  
  
"I - I don't have that much with me," Merry said, praying he had not just been the voice of Frodo's doom.   
  
"Then you shall come back when you've got it. I will be waiting, and bear in mind - " Bramblethorn gestured toward Frodo - "So will your cousin." He nodded at Monto who began to muscle Frodo out of the room.   
  
"No!" Frodo cried, craning his neck for a last glimpse of Merry and Sam as he was forced from the study and down the hall. Monto made sure to 'accidentally' slam him into the wall a couple of times when he seemed to resist. A shove at his back nearly sent him sprawling through the door, which slammed shut behind him and was immediately locked, closing him off from any contact with the people he loved.   
  
Sam was unable to stand it any longer. He leapt at Bramblethorn before Anson could get a hand on him, and his fist connected with his enemy's jaw. Merry snarled and followed, only to be yanked back by the burly bodyguard. Bramblethorn recovered and dabbed at the blood Sam had drawn as Monto re - entered the room.  
  
"My fellows and I will keep in contact with you to arrange the purchase of the grain, once you have the payment." He turned to Monto and Anson. "Remove them," Bramblethorn ordered, and Sam and Merry were forced, protesting from the room. "I'll give you that one for free, Samwise," he called after them, rubbing his jaw. "But before you try such a thing again, think of the cost."   
  
Bramblethorn's henchmen ignored Sam and Merry's curses and protests, and tossed them, blindfolded once again, into the back of the cart. They rattled along back into the town and Sam and Merry were left standing in the darkness behind the inn.   
  
"I've left him, Mr. Merry!" Sam nearly sobbed. "I'm naught but a coward and no use to him at all!"  
  
"That's not true, Sam, and you know it," Merry said gravely. "It was no easier for me to leave Frodo in Bramblethorn's presence, or to listen to Frodo tell me I'd no choice. But what can we do, Sam? We're outnumbered and at a clear disadvantage."  
  
"There must be someone in Bree who can help us," Sam said desperately. "There's law in places like Bree, ain't there, Mr. Merry?"  
  
"Law there may be, Sam, but few to enforce it. Besides, if we send anyone to Frodo's aid, we'll place Frodo in danger of retaliation. You heard what Bramblethorn said. If we attempt to free Frodo, there will be reprisals."  
  
"And he would do it, wouldn't he?" Sam looked more crestfallen that Merry had ever seen him. "He would hurt Mr. Frodo, blast him!"   
  
"I fear he would, Sam." Merry sighed. "Frodo is very strong and he's no fool. He knows Bramblethorn's games from experience and will keep his wits about him. Our task is to procure enough funds to make the payment, and as soon as possible."  
  
"We'll have to give him what he wants, won't we?" Sam began to feel anger rising and cutting a swath through his despair. It was all so wrong!   
  
"I have enough with me to ransom Frodo, but not enough for the grain as well. I would be more than satisfied to have Frodo safely back with us and damn the grain, but Bramblethorn will not free him unless we purchase from him."  
  
Sam's thoughts went back to the large amount of grain Merry had requested. "That's an awful lot of wheat an' such, Mr. Merry. Does Buckland need all that much?"  
  
"To tell you the truth, Sam, I asked for a good deal more than is needed. It may be a small thing in comparison to all that he's done, but I have a mind to deal Bramblethorn a blow myself," Merry said, referring to Sam's well - aimed right hook.   
  
"I'm afraid I don't follow you, Mr. Merry," Sam said, shaking his head. How was buying more grain from Bramblethorn going to hurt him?  
  
"I'll fill you in on my plan later, Sam. It must wait until Frodo is safely returned to us. For now, I'm planning to go back inside and write an urgent letter to my father. We must get the rest of the payment as soon as we are able."   
  
Sam nodded and followed Merry inside, casting a glance at the hills above the village where Bramblethorn's well - guarded smial was located. He could imagine the dark forms of Monto and Anson standing watch at the door, and cursed himself for having ever let Frodo out of his sight for even a moment. Now he was letting Frodo out of his sight and out of his reach, but not out of his mind or heart. Never that.   
  
Filled with fear and desperation, Merry and Sam made their way back to their room. Sleep was a far - off, unattainable thing for both that night, as they thought of nothing but Frodo and what he was likely enduring at the hands of Bramblethorn and his thugs.   
  
~*~ To be continued ~*~ 


	8. Rules of the Game

Stephanie - Thanks for joining us! I think you'll find that I'm evil in my use of the nasty cliffhanger with several days in between chapters to make my readers twitch. Here's your update!  
  
CuriousCat - Thank you for checking frequently for updates. Bramblethorn is still his cruel, manipulated self as always, but who knows what else lies in his twisted psyche?   
  
Sam - What am I planning? Best to ask what Bramblethorn is planning! (Evil laughter)  
  
Sam want a few minutes alone with Bramblethorn, no doubt about it. As suave and calculating as Bramblethorn is, I'd bet on Sam's perseverance and protectiveness of Frodo in a one on one confrontation.  
  
GamgeeFest - Yeah, Bramblethorn thinks his &%#$ don't stink, as my husband would say, LOL. You're not the only one to wonder how our heroes would have any clue as to the vicinity of Bramblethorn's lair. I'll address that very point in this chapter. Even so, knowing where Frodo is doesn't help much with the very tangible threats toward him if anyone interferes!  
  
Heartofahobbit - Will Bramblethorn settle for riches in place of the object of his affections? Time will tell! Suspense is so much fun, isn't it?  
  
Endymion2 - Bramblethorn's hired help are hobbits. Bramby is a Shire hobbit, exiled or no, and his greatest fault is the narrowness of his thinking. He might benefit by having some of the Big Folk on his payroll, but he's so accustomed to dealing with his own kind that he hasn't considered attempting such a thing. Besides, the Big Folk are clumsy, foolish, etc.... Oops. I let Bramblethorn talk for a minute, didn't I? As to Merry's understanding of where Bramblethorn is keeping Frodo, I've addressed that in this chapter. Merry is very perceptive! The phrase "What do you want with me" is pretty much the same thing as "what do you want from me." Just perhaps another variation of same.  
  
Amber - Thanks for reading all the other fics and for following this one!   
  
Girlofring1 - I don't plan to have Strider or any elves show up, but who knows who else might be hanging about Bree and getting into the picture? Thanks for watching for updates!  
  
Hobbitfeet13 - Those nasty fellows Bramblethorn has hired are quite a pair indeed. Some people will do anything for money! Sam could only get off one good one before Bramby's pals got back to prevent any more retaliation. Poor Sam! Frodo is in a choice mood indeed, given his previous experiences with his enemy and the current situation.  
  
Trust No One - Will Bramblethorn keep Frodo unharmed? Let us define 'unharmed'! Temptation has never been something Bramblethorn could easily resist. I did get your e - card, and thanks! It took some doing to find it amongst my email because my spam blocker tried to oust it. It's lovely, and I wish you and yours a happy holiday season as well!  
  
Tavion - Bramblethorn is a kick to write because he's such a head case! I was going for major tension in the last chapter. Glad it worked!  
  
Iorhael - Getting the boys together... oh, but you'll see what I mean, won't you? (Oh, I'm so evil! If Bramblethorn is my alter - ego, I need some serious therapy!)  
  
FrodoBaggins87 - Merry and Sam are too worried about Bramblethorn's threats to attempt to free Frodo, at least for the time being. They'll be working on getting the ransom money as fast as they can.  
  
Aratlitheil1 - I had to let Sam get at least one shot in on Bramblethorn. There was no way I could deny him that!  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
Chapter 7 - Rules of the Game  
  
After Monto had locked him inside his room, Frodo had collapsed upon the bed. His captors had not bothered to unbind his hands this time, and he lay down on his side and buried his face in the pillow. All he could envision when he closed his eyes were the stricken looks on Sam and Merry's faces. He could almost feel Monto's grip on his arms and Anson's blade skimming just under his jaw.   
  
As if Buckland's troubles weren't enough, Merry had to deal with paying a hefty ransom if he wanted to free Frodo from Bramblethorn's clutches. And then there was Sam. Sam, who had sought only to protect Frodo and keep him safe since the events of several years earlier. Sam had been faithful in keeping his promises, never allowing himself to be farther away than the reach of a hand or the sound of a spoken word.   
  
Tears came to Frodo's eyes and he let them fall. Sam and Merry must be so upset, he thought. And what about Frodo himself? Frodo searched his heart and found deep remorse for having placed the people he loved in such an awful position. And there was something else - fear. Although he knew his enemy, Frodo still feared him. Bramblethorn had proven relentless when it came to achieving his ends, regardless of who or what might stand in the way.   
  
Something else within him spurred Frodo to fight his enemy, to remain strong and defiant in the face of his fears. But what could he do? It was not just Bramblethorn alone this time, but Bramblethorn and two of his minions who seemed to take pleasure in tormenting him. There were locked doors and ropes that bound him, sharp blades that gleamed and seemed to plead for the chance to break tender flesh and spill warm blood. There were horrible threats that held his loved ones at bay, and would keep them from being able to summon help.   
  
Eventually, when fear and tears had exhausted him, Frodo fell into an uneasy sleep. When the door of the room creaked open again hours later, he was dimly aware of it, but thought he might be dreaming.   
  
"Good morning, Frodo," Bramblethorn said calmly as he brushed stray curls from Frodo's forehead. "I thought we might begin the day with a little talk." Frodo realized he must have flinched involuntarily for Bramblethorn's next words were spoken in what was possibly meant to be a soothing tone. "They aren't here with us. Monto and Anson are just outside, waiting, should I need them."   
  
As if that should be any comfort. Frodo responded by curling up tighter, his back to Bramblethorn.   
  
"We must discuss a few things, you and I," Bramblethorn continued, brushing his fingers lightly over Frodo's nape. "Frodo, are you listening?" He reached out and grasped Frodo's shoulder, rolling him over.  
  
Frodo looked at Bramblethorn, his eyes still stinging from the tears of the night before. "Do I have a choice?"  
  
"Always defiant, aren't you, love?" Bramblethorn purred. "Really, Frodo, you're making this much harder than it has to be. You needn't suffer punishments if you behave yourself." Bramblethorn toyed with the cords that bound Frodo's wrists. He marveled once again at the thin, elegant bone structure. "You need not be bound, if you prove that I can trust you. You will have to remain here, in this room of course, but I am willing to make your stay here more comfortable."  
  
"Are you really?" Frodo said quietly. "And just what is it you would ask of me in order to grant me these small kindnesses?"  
  
Bramblethorn considered the question. Just what was he prepared to ask of Frodo? In the past two years, Bramblethorn had done his best to convince himself that he no longer wanted Frodo physically, but now that Frodo was there in his presence, he again felt the old wound of unrequited passion break open. "For now, I merely want you to do as I ask while you are my guest."  
  
  
  
"Guest," Frodo laughed softly, bitterly. "A grave misuse of the word, I believe." Frodo raised himself to a sitting position and regarded Bramblethorn as steadily as he could while he spoke. "And since when have you 'asked' me for anything? No, you never ask. You demand. You never give, you merely take."   
  
"I am not here to discuss your opinions of my actions," Bramblethorn said as he stepped away from the bed. "If you shout and beat upon the door, you will be prevented from doing so. If you strike out, you yourself shall be struck. If you maintain your composure, I will allow you small concessions."  
  
"All right, since we're discussing terms, if I 'behave myself' as you say, will I have food and drink?" The last time Bramblethorn had wanted something of Frodo, he had tried to starve it out of him.   
  
Bramblethorn regarded him thoughtfully. "Sustenance will not be withheld, as long as you conduct yourself properly."   
  
"All right, then," Frodo said, pressing onward. "I wish to be untied." Frodo stood and turned his back to Bramblethorn, extending his hands behind him and waiting.   
  
"One step at a time, dear Frodo," Bramblethorn said evenly, placing his hands on Frodo's shoulders and squeezing gently. "You will have to show me that I can trust you if I allow you such freedom."  
  
Frodo hid his frustration with difficulty. "Freedom? What freedom is there with a locked door guarded by two violent thugs? Just how far would I be able to get with those two outside my room?"  
  
"My thoughts exactly," Bramblethorn offered, "but nonetheless, I do not intend to take chances. You're quite valuable to me, you know."   
  
Frodo scowled and pulled away. "I don't know why I'm bothering to - "  
  
"Because you can't help it, love." Bramblethorn closed the distance between them and grasped Frodo's upper arms as he stood behind him. "You can't help but resist. I know you now, Frodo Baggins," Bramblethorn breathed in Frodo's ear. "I cannot allow you to be unbound at this time because I know you will fight or flee if you see the slightest opportunity."  
  
"Am I to be blamed for that?" Frodo asked angrily, his eyes cast downward.   
  
"Ahh, dear Frodo," Bramblethorn said, shaking his head. "I, for one, could find you to blame for many things, and yet I am still fond of you." Bramblethorn moved closer, pulling Frodo toward him in a possessive embrace.   
  
"Let me go!" Frodo said, his voice breaking. Every terrible memory, every nightmare he had fought against for the past two years threatened to surface and sweep him away in a wave of despair.   
  
Bramblethorn startled Frodo by saying calmly, "Are you hungry?"  
  
Frodo wanted to say he wasn't, wanted to fling himself as far from Bramblethorn as he could, but he heard himself say, "Yes."  
  
"Last night you accused me of lying, of not keeping my word," Bramblethorn said, running his hands down Frodo's arms to grasp his bound wrists. "That was very unkind of you." He began to loosen the knots. "I told you I would not allow you to hunger, should you be well - behaved, and I will do as I have said."   
  
Frodo held his breath and only dared to release it when his hands were freed. He turned to face Bramblethorn reluctantly, and Bramblethorn grasped his wrists and rubbed them lightly for a moment.   
  
"I will have something brought to you, but you have yet to prove yourself." Bramblethorn turned and retrieved the same length of rope he had just unwound from Frodo's wrists and demanded, "Give me your hands, Frodo."  
  
Frodo looked at Bramblethorn in dismay. "Please, no," he said quickly, snatching his hands away.   
  
"Frodo, as I said before, you must earn this. Are you truly hungry as you've said?" Bramblethorn's gaze bored into Frodo's.  
  
Frodo closed his eyes and slowly extended his hands. Merry and Sam would ransom him eventually, and he must keep up his strength until that time. He remembered the days of painful hunger he had endured the last time Bramblethorn had imprisoned him, and his stomach implored him not to let it happen again.   
  
"Very good, Frodo," Bramblethorn praised, as he re - bound Frodo's wrists. "You shall have your meal, but nothing that requires the use of utensils. If I give you a knife or a fork, you might misuse them, I think."  
  
Frodo refused to answer the comment. Part of him was raging just below the surface, providing him with a host of ideas regarding just what to do with such implements.   
  
Bramblethorn said no more, but left the room. The door closed and the bolt slid into the lock. Frodo sat on the edge of the bed, lost in thought. What was Bramblethorn up to? Frodo dared not hope that renewed prosperity and comfort had somehow softened his captor. Remembering the sneering, threatening and swaggering Bramblethorn had exhibited the night before, he felt certain that any pretense of kindness was just that.   
  
Frodo examined the bonds around his wrists. They were tight enough to prevent him from twisting his hands within them, and the knots were placed at an angle where Frodo could not adequately reach them with his teeth. He sighed. Even if he managed to free himself, it would only lead to some reprisal for rebelliousness.   
  
A short while later, Anson entered the room with a tray of bread and cheese, a few small sausages, and a flask of water. He placed it on the table and smirked at Frodo. "Breakfast is served," he said with a mocking flourish, and stalked out.   
  
"Serve this," Frodo muttered, making his best effort at a gesture he hadn't used since his tweens.   
  
~*~  
  
"Dammit," Merry muttered as he scrunched up the parchment he was writing on and hurled it across the room. He had tried the night before to write his father and ask for assistance, but it had been late and he had been terribly upset by the events of the day. How could he adequately explain what had happened?   
  
The balled - up wad came to rest near Sam's toes, and he reached down to retrieve it. He slowly opened it back up and read what Merry had written, then crossed the room to where Merry stood gazing pensively out the window toward the hills beyond the village of Bree. "There ain't no proper words, are there, Mr. Merry?"  
  
"No, Sam, none at all," Merry said sullenly. "How can I tell my father what's happened? I don't feel right sitting here while Frodo is in terrible danger."  
  
"I don't either," Sam said, his tone somber. "When I seen that blade at Mr. Frodo's throat, my heart just froze." Tears welled in Sam's eyes anew. "Do you think they'll really hurt him, Mr. Merry?"  
  
"I don't know, Sam." Merry looked at the blank page before him. "But I believe Bramblethorn when he says that Frodo will pay the price if we try to free him. We bested him once, but we outnumbered him then. We're on more than even ground now, with those two trained trolls he's got working for him."   
  
"If I get my chance at any of them, they'll be sorry they ever heard the name of Sam Gamgee," Sam vowed.   
  
"I hope you get your chance, Sam," Merry said as he rose from the table and made his way to the window. Off into the distance stood the hills that bordered Bree, silent sentinels to the daily life of those who dwelt below.   
  
Sam attempted to follow Merry's gaze and found himself staring at the same expanse of hills just beyond and above the settlements of the Big Folk. "Mr. Merry, what is it?" he asked, concerned by the serious expression in the other hobbit's eyes.   
  
Merry knew better than to attempt to hide his thoughts from Sam. "Up there," he said as he pointed toward the hills. "Somewhere up in those hills Frodo waits for us to help him."  
  
Sam regarded Merry quizzically. "How do you figure that?" he asked, wondering how Merry would know where Frodo was being held. After all, they had been blindfolded during their ride to the meeting with Bramblethorn.  
  
Merry adopted a thoughtful pose. "You've never been to Bree, have you, Sam?" Merry asked in a calm tone.  
  
"No, Mr. Merry, I haven't," Sam replied, embarrassed at his lack of experience. "I've not been so far from Hobbiton in all my days, if the truth be told," he admitted bashfully.  
  
  
  
Merry smiled grimly. "I've not been here before myself, Sam," Merry countered, "but my grandfather has, and I used to listen to him tell of his travels. Most of the hobbits in Bree live in the hills above the town, by preference rather than necessity," he explained. "And then, there's Bramblethorn."  
  
Sam's expression darkened noticeably. "And what about him?"  
  
"He's from the Shire," Merry said thoughtfully. "He's accustomed to dwellings like those in Hobbiton, and to the company of his own kind." Merry paced before the window, his expression reflecting his thoughts. "I noticed that the two in his service were hobbits rather than Big Folk, didn't you?"  
  
"They were," Sam admitted. "Do you think he has much to do with anyone but his own?"  
  
"As reluctant as I am to refer to any hobbit as being anything close to Bramblethorn's kind," Merry commented, "I tend to doubt that he associates much with the other folk of Bree other than cheating them and using them to his advantage. But think of it, Sam," Merry continued, pacing as he spoke. "He's surrounding himself with other hobbits and living in the fashion that he's accustomed to. Why would he not choose to live amongst his own kind?"  
  
Merry fixed Sam with a sharp gaze. "When we were being taken to meet with Bramblethorn I thought I felt the cart traveling on an incline. We were going uphill, I'm sure of it."  
  
Sam thought for a moment and realized Merry was right. He had been too focused on the question of Frodo's well - being at the time to notice that the wagon that bore them was traveling uphill. "I think you're right, now that I remember," he admitted, respecting Merry that much more for noticing such details.  
  
"And so I believe that somewhere in the hills beyond the village, Frodo waits for us to ransom him," Merry finished with a heavy sigh. He sat down again at the table, considering the fresh page before him and dipped the quill in the ink once again.   
  
Sam's eyes narrowed. "An' if we try to help him?"  
  
Merry drew a deep breath before speaking. "We risk harm to him, I'm certain," he admitted. "If we go sniffing about in the hills in an attempt to discern which smial belongs to Bramblethorn, we'll likely be seen by his sentries."  
  
Sam nodded sadly. "They'll know we're lookin' for Mr. Frodo, an' they'll do somethin' awful to him."  
  
Merry nodded. "If we're to save Frodo from that horrid villain, I must get this letter off. I hate to play Bramblethorn's game by the rules he's laid down, but at the moment I see no other alternative if we're to help Frodo." Merry bent to his task with intense concentration, attempting to convey the urgency of the situation to his father. Frodo had always been the one with the talent for words, he recalled bitterly. Now, when Merry's words very possibly meant the difference between life and death for his cousin, they seemed stumbling and inadequate.   
  
It was more than an hour later when Merry was finally satisfied with his work. He handed it to Sam. "What do you think?"  
  
Sam read the note carefully, each word burning itself into his mind like a white - hot brand.   
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
Dear Father,  
  
Something terrible has happened. Since his return to exile from the Shire, Rushford Bramblethorn has settled himself in Bree. Somehow - and I should like to know how he managed it - he has learned of our troubles in Buckland, and our errand has taken a disastrous turn.   
  
Bramblethorn is hoarding much of the grain supply available in and about Bree, and has taken Frodo captive to ensure that we purchase from him at an enormous price. He is also holding Frodo for ransom, and insists that we shall not see Frodo until both sums are paid in full.   
  
(Here Merry listed the shocking figures Bramblethorn had demanded.)  
  
We must ask you to send a messenger from the Hall with more funds as soon as you possibly can. The longer Frodo remains in that villain's clutches, the greater the chance that harm will come to him. It's awful, believe me. They are armed and hold him bound, and they promise dire vengeance if we should try to free him.   
  
Had I but known that Bramblethorn was here in Bree, I would never have allowed Frodo to come near the place. Please send someone as soon as possible so that we may have Frodo safe with us again.  
  
Yours in great haste,  
  
Merry.  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Sam nodded his approval and handed the note back to Merry. A terrible thought occurred to him. "What if he doesn't give Frodo back when he gets his money?"  
  
"Then I shall gut him," Merry said harshly. "If it takes me the rest of my days, I shall finish him!"   
  
"Not if I get him first," Sam said, looking Merry in the eyes. The only thing that held him back from kicking down the door of Bramblethorn's smial was the memory of how smugly Anson had brought the blade up against Frodo's pale skin, as if it would be nothing at all for him to plunge it deep and end the life of the kindest, dearest person Sam had ever had the privilege to know.  
  
~*~  
  
Bramblethorn summoned Anson to his study to assign him another task. Anson stood ready to accept his latest orders from his employer, who lit his pipe and puffed on it for a moment before speaking. "I imagine Brandybuck will be sending a message to Buckland in today's post. I want you to go over to the inn where he's staying and intercept it."   
  
Bramblethorn smiled. If the request for more funds to pay the ransom failed to reach its destination, the game would become very interesting indeed, he mused. He fully intended to make Merry and Sam writhe in mental agony before it was over.  
  
Anson nodded, turned and left the room, making for the inn to capture Merry's message before the day's post could be collected for transport to its destination.   
  
~*~  
  
The innkeeper was hovering about the desk when Anson arrived at the inn, and a stack of parcels and messages sat tantalizingly upon the desktop waiting for the post runner. Anson ordered an ale and sat in the common room as close to the front desk as he could manage, hoping the innkeeper would have reason to leave the desk for a moment. If not, a disturbance would have to be created that would draw the man's attention away from the front area.  
  
After about half an hour, Anson got the chance he was hoping for. A traveler came in and asked for a room, and the innkeeper left the desk to help the man carry his burdens down the hallway. Anson rose casually from his table and paused at the desk, looking left and right to make sure he was not being observed. Nobody was looking in his direction, and he quickly ducked behind the desk. A chair stood behind it, and he climbed up on it in order to be able to reach the items on the desktop. He sifted through the items in the post stack until he located a letter bearing the address of Brandy Hall, Buckland, and slipped it into his waistcoat pocket. He went back to his table, gulped down the rest of his ale, and left the inn, having completed his mission.  
  
~*~ To be continued ~*~ 


	9. Table For Two

Stephanie - The evil author thanks you! I sometimes have to pause and wonder where Bramblethorn came from. If he's any kind of alter ego of mine, I think I'm in big trouble.  
  
Heartofahobbit - Sam and Merry know it will take a few days for help to arrive from Buckland. We know it isn't coming, but as yet they're clueless. Bramblethorn's 'kindness' to Frodo is all due to his ulterior motives, which are growing stronger in his mind all the time!  
  
Hobbitfeet13 - Bramblethorn's idea of 'good behavior' on Frodo's part might well be more than Frodo can manage. Frodo is definitely at odds with his surroundings, and it's bound to bring trouble.  
  
CuriousCat - Bramblethorn's evil plans are evolving all the time. He started out with mere greed, but there are old feelings growing ever stronger that will guide his actions. We'll see how long Frodo can continue his level of cooperation.  
  
Aratlithiel1 - Frodo can't help but be defiant, especially where Monto and Anson are involved. He absolutely loathes them! Merry has just about had it with Bramblethorn, let me tell you!  
  
Anarie - There is something about Bramblethorn that you just can't completely hate, isn't there? He's such an ego - maniac headcase! Will Bramby 'get lucky'? Only time can answer that question. (Otherwise I'll be spoiling the story, won't I?)   
  
FrodoBaggins87 - Bramblethorn relishes the opportunity to place himself in such a position of power over Merry, Sam and Frodo. His old feelings for Frodo are growing stronger, and there is more on his mind now than financial gain.  
  
QTPie - 2488 - Poor Sam and Merry. There's not much they can do now but wait for help to arrive. They don't dare attempt to save Frodo on their own at this point. But don't worry, even if they will be forced to wait, there will be plenty of angst to go around! Bramblethorn will make sure of it.   
  
GamgeeFest - Bramblethorn is a control freak, and right now he's glorying in the control he has over everyone, Merry and Sam included. He has certainly bought himself some time with Frodo, hasn't he?  
  
Endymion2 - Ahh, time. Bramby now has some, doesn't he? He has some ideas of how to use it, but will his plans work? We'll see! The Bramblethorn series stands alone from the other stories precisely because I couldn't see Frodo having to deal with quite that much angst!   
  
KT SHY - Bramblethorn is off in his own little world, making his twisted little plans regarding Frodo. Frodo is defiant as always, but it's bound to get him into trouble sooner or later!   
  
Sam - Frodo absolutely detests his 'keepers'. He finds them coarse and stupid, and his defiance of them is almost automatic for that reason.   
  
Honey Dipped Rose - Thanks for reviewing! I didn't mind Merry and Pippin being comic relief in the movies, but I think that only showed one side of their personalities. They may like ale and mischief, but I think they're capable of much more! Bramblethorn even scares me sometimes. When writing some of these chapters, I've found myself muttering things like, "God, you're awful! How could you?"  
  
Aelfgifu - Frodo will continue his defiance, but as time goes on, we'll also see the effects of his situation beginning to tell on him. I know you want a bath scene, dear. Let me consider it. It's just that you've used the idea so well in your own story, I think I would be hard - pressed to use it without it seeming contrived. As for Frodo, I'll clean him up a bit in this chapter, but poor Bramblethorn won't be involved in the process.  
  
Iorhael - Yes, Frodo is surrounded by a whole bunch of trouble. Right now, the only thing Frodo can do to help himself is try to keep his wits about him.  
  
Trust No One - You might be more in touch with Bramblethorn's thought processes than you know.   
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
Chapter 8 - Table For Two  
  
Frodo started as the door swung open. He watched nervously as Anson and Monto brought in a washstand with a large ceramic bowl and ewer and placed it in the corner. They filled the ewer with heated water from a kettle and placed towels and soap nearby.   
  
Anson walked over to where Frodo was sitting on the edge of the bed and yanked him to his feet. "Time to clean up, pretty boy," he said snidely. "The boss wants to see you."   
  
"Since when does he care if I've a hair out of place?" Frodo muttered. If Frodo was in less than impressive condition, Bramblethorn was to blame for it.   
  
"Since he expects you to join him for supper. Now get to it." Monto unbound Frodo's hands and pushed him toward the washstand. "We'll be back in a few minutes, and you'd better be ready."   
  
Bramblethorn's henchmen left the room, and Frodo took a tentative glance at the mirror that was attached to the stand. He cringed as he saw a darkening bruise on his cheek. The cut above his eye had long since stopped bleeding, but it had scabbed over and there was a smear of dried blood on his forehead.   
  
Frodo poured some of the water into the basin and scrubbed his face. He then hurriedly disrobed and scrubbed the rest of himself as well. It was nowhere near as satisfying as a good bath, but obviously that was too much to ask under the circumstances. He dressed again, blushing furiously as he hoped that Bramblethorn didn't have an eye to the keyhole. Lastly, he washed his hair and ruffled it with one of the towels until it was mostly dry.   
  
He finished just in time. Anson and Monto walked in and each grabbed one of Frodo's arms. They hauled him out of the room and down the hall, to a dining room where a well - laden table stood set for two. A bottle of good wine and two fine crystal glasses stood amid the plates and silver, and two candles burned elegantly in graceful silver candlesticks. Presiding over all, like a king on his throne, was Bramblethorn.   
  
Bramblethorn looked Frodo up and down and nodded in satisfaction. "Please, sit down, Frodo," he invited in an almost pleasant, but smug tone.   
  
Casting suspicious looks at Monto and Anson, who hovered on either side of him, Frodo did as he was bidden. "What is this, Bramblethorn?" Frodo asked eyeing his self - proclaimed host warily.   
  
"This," Bramblethorn replied, gesturing to the table, "is a romantic supper for two."   
  
Frodo's lips quirked in a sardonic half - smile. "Don't you mean four?" he asked, referring to the two bodyguards who had remained behind his chair, alert for any sign of trouble.  
  
"As much as I would like to dine with you in private, Frodo, it is still early in the game. I cannot yet trust you not to create a disturbance." Bramblethorn poured a glass of wine and placed it in front of Frodo. "Old Winyards, and a fine vintage," he said appreciatively as he poured another glass for himself. "Of course, nothing is too good for my guests."  
  
"There you go again, using the term 'guest'," Frodo observed. "Do you always keep your guests bound and behind locked doors?"  
  
"No, Frodo, I do not," Bramblethorn said, sounding mildly irritated. "For you, I am willing to make an exception." He grew serious and gazed across the table at Frodo. "We must discuss a few things, you and I."  
  
"What is there to discuss?" Frodo shot back. "You're up to your old tricks again, only worse!"  
  
"How do you mean?" Bramblethorn asked, sipping his wine. "It really is very good wine, Frodo. Go ahead, try it."  
  
Frodo gave the wine glass a measuring glance then looked back at Bramblethorn. He had watched as Bramblethorn poured it straight from the bottle, so he felt confident that it wasn't spiked with anything. He took a small sip and spoke again. "This time, you have not only sought to harm me, but you've placed a heavy burden upon Buckland as well."  
  
Bramblethorn waved his hand dismissively. "As I've mentioned, whether or not harm is done to you is dependent upon your own actions and those of certain other parties. As for Buckland," he said, taking another sip of wine, "the Bucklanders can afford the price I've specified."  
  
"Are you referring to the price of the grain, or the ransom?" Frodo said rather hotly, and a hand gripped his shoulder in warning.  
  
Bramblethorn shook his head almost imperceptibly while looking at the space above Frodo's head, and the hand was lifted. "Both," he answered, looking at Frodo appreciatively. "I so enjoy these witty conversations with you, Frodo. You have such spirit. It's one of the many things that has always drawn me to you."  
  
"Oh, really?" Frodo said, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.   
  
"In fact, have I ever mentioned the first time I saw you?" Bramblethorn smiled wistfully. "It as at a Yule party, your second in Hobbiton, I believe. Even then, I found you quite captivating." Bramblethorn gestured to Anson, who began serving a first course of stuffed mushrooms.   
  
"I was barely a tween then," Frodo said indignantly. "And you were thinking - " he stammered, "you were thinking of me in that way?"  
  
"Don't look so shocked, my dear. You were quite lovely, even then." Bramblethorn popped a mushroom into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Frodo followed suit. He had to admit that he was hungry.  
  
"I was not long into my majority then myself, but it was made quite clear to me that my attentions toward you would not be exactly welcome." Bramblethorn's gaze crawled slowly over Frodo's features and Frodo felt the color rising in his cheeks.  
  
"Made clear? By whom?" Frodo took a larger sip of wine this time, unsettled by the revelations.   
  
"Why, that cracked old hobbit who took you in, of course," Bramblethorn laughed. "Old Bilbo warned me away, reminding me that you were little more than a child."  
  
"Bilbo." Frodo closed his eyes and pictured his former guardian sternly cautioning Bramblethorn to stay away from Frodo. "So you waited until he was gone."  
  
"Yes. And how fortunate that he should choose your coming of age as the time to go on his way. I had waited about as long as I could bear." Brambthorn frowned. "Of course, you were unkind enough to refuse me, then."  
  
"Of course, I did!" Frodo said in genuine dismay. "You attempted to force me, and not only on one occasion!"  
  
Monto stood behind Frodo and watched as Frodo's shoulders tensed. Bramblethorn's hireling began to ponder the very obvious desire his employer felt for Frodo. So Bramblethorn had wanted Frodo for a long time. He had tried to do something about it and failed. Monto wondered why. Frodo seemed rather delicate, and unlikely to be able to stop a sturdy hobbit like Bramblethorn from getting his way.  
  
Anson paid little heed to the conversation, but busied himself with preparing servings of roasted duck.   
  
"Enough about the past," Bramblethorn said abruptly. "Let's talk about here and now, shall we?"  
  
Frodo raised his eyes to Bramblethorn's with reluctance. He braced himself for the threats and demands that were surely coming.  
  
"I hope you realize that I have already made many concessions in your favor," Bramblethorn said. "I've given you the privacy of your own room, and a bed to sleep on rather than a hard floor. I've not allowed you to hunger or thirst, nor have I denied you your rest."   
  
"What you call privacy I call confinement," Frodo said pointedly. "As to the other things you mention, I suppose I am grateful for them, but I would be more grateful if you would abandon this foolish scheme and let me go."  
  
"Now, Frodo," Bramblethorn said as if talking to a rebellious child, "you know I can't do that. You're the most important part of the entire plan." Bramblethorn explained. "If I didn't have you, how would I convince your cousin and your gardener to accept my terms of sale for the grain?"  
  
"You wouldn't." Frodo glowered at the hobbit who held him prisoner.   
  
"And so I would miss a substantial financial gain," Bramblethorn agreed. "And that's just the grain. Really, the idea to ask a price for your safe return was not my original intention, but some opportunities are too good to ignore."   
  
"So will you?" Frodo continued to glare at the hobbit across the table.   
  
"Will I what?"  
  
"Return me to them." Frodo doubted that Bramblethorn would be willing when the time came.   
  
Bramblethorn smirked to himself. "I shall discuss that subject when I please and not before," he told Frodo, enjoying the fire that rose in his captive's eyes. "Please remember, you are in no position to dictate terms to me."  
  
The fine hair on the back of Frodo's neck rose in response to that statement, and he could feel the close presence of the two burly hobbits who alternately stood watch outside his door. He shifted in his chair uncomfortably, and Monto cracked his knuckles very near to Frodo's ear.   
  
"I wouldn't make any sudden moves," Bramblethorn warned Frodo. "Monto is good help, but he's rather hasty, you know." Bramblethorn put his fork down and ran a finger around the rim of the wineglass, causing it to emit a ringing sound. "Now, about my terms." Bramblethorn swirled the wine in his glass as he spoke. "I am prepared to offer you some comforts, within reason. If you prove to be pleasant company, I shall grant you small favors. As long as you can refrain from attempting to escape or from striking out at me, I will agree not to bind you."   
  
Frodo gritted his teeth. "You are asking me to sit here and be complacent, as if I were visiting you of my own accord?"   
  
"I realize it may be difficult for you, as stubborn as you are," Bramblethorn admitted. "But your choice is simple. Behave yourself or be punished. Once we have established that you can do that, I may be willing to give you more, say, something to read, perhaps."  
  
"You expect me to grovel meekly at your feet and do your bidding, simply so that I may be treated with common decency?" The idea was too repellent to consider.   
  
"It is your decision, Frodo," Bramblethorn said. "Your choice. If you can mind your manners for the course of this evening, I promise not to bind you upon your return to your room."  
  
It took all Frodo's strength not to tell Bramblethorn what he could do with his promise. "All right, I shall attempt to conduct myself with the utmost propriety," Frodo answered. "But I want something in return."  
  
"Do tell," Bramblethorn said, smiling.   
  
Frodo took a deep breath and spoke softly. "I want to see Merry and Sam."   
  
Bramblethorn stopped toying with the wine glass and set it down very carefully on the table and smoothed the linen. "No. That is out of the question." Frodo's cousin and that annoying gardener must be kept as far away from Frodo as possible.   
  
"Why? Do you think that they alone could manage to spirit me away from you under the circumstances?" Frodo made an impatient gesture to the room at large. "Don't you understand that I must let them know - "  
  
"Fear not, Frodo. I shall be more than pleased to inform them of your condition, be it what it may." The tone of Bramblethorn's voice did nothing to soothe Frodo. It was rather cold, and filled with darker implications. "Besides, they haven't seemed as eager to see you as I would have thought. I fully expected Samwise Gamgee banging on my door long before now. Indeed, I find it rather amazing that he left you to my care at all."  
  
"How can you say that, with the threats you made before his very eyes?" Frodo asked incredulously. "The only reason Sam has stayed away is - "  
  
"The reason your faithful gardener has abandoned you to my care is that he is afraid," Bramblethorn taunted.   
  
"Yes, Bramblethorn," Frodo said evenly. "He is afraid. He is afraid that you will harm me if he comes, so he has not. He has stayed away because I pleaded with him to do so, but he most surely has not abandoned me."   
  
"Poor dear, you're unwilling to see the truth, as painful as it is. When your isolation becomes too much to bear, perhaps you will not find my company so dreadful, hmmm?" Bramblethorn purred.  
  
Frodo had heard enough. "I will never be lonely enough to crave your company," he said coldly. Having eaten and endured his fill, Frodo kept his promise to mind his manners and said, "May I be excused?"  
  
Bramblethorn raised an eyebrow and looked at Monto. "You heard our guest, Monto. Frodo would like to be excused." Monto pulled Frodo to his feet.   
  
"Thank you for a pleasant evening, Frodo. I'm so glad that you could join me." He addressed Monto again. "Please see him to his room."  
  
"Come on, you," Monto growled and shoved Frodo toward the hallway. Upon reaching the door to the room, Monto paused to unlock it. As he did, he shoved Frodo against the wall and stood much closer to him than was strictly necessary. "The boss must really be fond of you to put up with your sass. You're a smart - arse pretty boy, you are."  
  
"And you're a miserable half - orc," Frodo hissed. Monto had got the door unlocked by that time. He grabbed Frodo by his collar and hurled him into the room so hard he slammed into the far wall. The door banged shut and Frodo was alone again, a fact he regretted not at all. He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to take him.   
  
~*~  
  
"Did you get it?" Bramblethorn asked Anson, once Frodo was safely locked away.   
  
Anson produced Merry's letter and handed it to Bramblethorn, smirking broadly. "Wasn't too hard, boss. That innkeeper's not very attentive at times."  
  
Bramblethorn turned the sealed envelope over in his hands gleefully. "Well, let's just see what the little Bucklander has attempted to report, shall we?" He tore it open and read the message Merry had intended for his father. "Ahh, good. They are afraid to attempt to rescue Frodo, at least for the present. We must keep them on their toes, however." He drummed his fingertips against the desktop. "As I told Frodo at supper, I plan to communicate with them every so often, to ensure that they don't forget where they stand." He drew parchment and quill from his writing desk and composed a message, which he sealed and addressed. "Tomorrow I want you to leave this at the inn for Brandybuck and Frodo's gardener."  
  
Anson nodded and accepted the message. "I wish I could be there to see their faces when they read this," he commented with a nasty laugh.  
  
"It would be enjoyable, wouldn't it?" Bramblethorn responded, his tone smug and self - satisfied. "Even as I prevent them from getting near Frodo, I shall make them feel his absence and fear for him with all of their hearts and souls." He leaned back in his chair and grinned at his hired help. This could turn out to be the best game of wits he had ever enjoyed.   
  
~*~ To be continued ~*~  
  
~*~ 


	10. The Arms of the Enemy

Sam - You will find out what the note says in this chapter. Bramblethorn believes that if he can adequately separate Frodo from his loved ones he can replace them.  
  
Trust No One - Poor deluded Bramblethorn! He thinks he can draw Frodo to him gradually, and that keeping him from his loved ones will make him lonely enough to be vulnerable to such a ploy.   
  
CuriousCat - Bramblethorn does enjoy taunting Frodo. Bramblethorn is trying to be patient, but how long can he last, eh?  
  
Aelfgifu - I need to stop by and review the latest chapter of RATM, and I hope to do it in the next couple of days. Frodo did get his say in during the last chapter, didn't he? If he keeps it up, he may well end up forcibly subdued. Stay tuned!  
  
GamgeeFest - The Ring is hidden safely away at Bag End, thank goodness. Hate to think what would happen if Bramblethorn got hold of it! Bramblethorn has tried the harsher approach before and it didn't work. He's thinking perhaps there are other ways to draw Frodo to him. Poor deluded thing! I don't know if I'd call Monto smart, but he's certainly starting to get ideas of his own.  
  
Stephanie - Bramblethorn has not abandoned his notions toward Frodo. He's just trying another approach for the time being. Merry and Sam will definitely be writhing by the time this chapter ends. If Bramblethorn is indeed some kind of twisted alter ego of mine, I thank heavens he stays put in the background! Makes you wonder if we all don't have two sides to our natures and just choose which one to follow?  
  
Hobbitfeet13 - Bramblethorn still has plans for Frodo, certainly. Nasty hobbit! And the gleam in Monto's eyes is definitely not a good thing.  
  
KT SHY - It is scary to think of Bramblethorn watching Frodo all that time. Poor Frodo! So far Frodo has managed to escape much harsh treatment, but the road ahead has the potential to be a hard one.   
  
FrodoBaggins87 - The plot is thickening, and yes, I do have the entire story written and ready to go. That way I can be sure I'll actually finish it! You'll see the contents of Bramblethorn's note in this chapter.   
  
Anarie - It was indeed an unpleasant shock to Frodo to know Bramblethorn has been eyeing him for so long. Monto will definitely get involved in this chapter.   
  
Endymion2 - Bramblethorn has behaved himself fairly well so far, but how long can he last? He's still our beloved Bramby, after all. Monto will be added to the mix in a big way in this chapter.  
  
Aratlithiel1 - Frodo is up to his eyes in trouble now. He will need his courage to get through the coming days, certainly.   
  
Iorhael - Bramblethorn? Sweet? Sweet on Frodo, that's for sure! We'll see how long Bramby gets to keep him now that help from Buckland will be delayed.  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
Chapter 9 - The Arms of the Enemy   
  
~*~ The next morning ~*~  
  
"I'm sending Anson to deliver a message to Brandybuck and Gamgee," Bramblethorn informed Monto. "I must procure a few small items, so I will be away for a short time myself. In the meantime, make sure Frodo stays put."  
  
Monto nodded. He reflected that he would almost rather have been given Anson's task. Frodo had been quiet for the most part, and the duty of watching his door was beginning to become rather dull.   
  
Bramblethorn and Anson departed, and Monto paced alone in the hallway outside the bolted door of Frodo's prison as a good hour or so passed by. Monto's thoughts began to wander back to the previous night and Bramblethorn's invitation for Frodo to join him at table. It was plain that Bramblethorn still felt something for the handsome young hobbit. And why not, he mused? When it came right down to it, Frodo was rather nice to look at. Monto had certainly never seen a hobbit quite like him before. Bramblethorn's taste in romantic partners was none of Monto's concern, of course, and Monto hadn't troubled himself about it. He supposed that in the absence of a willing lass, a lad would do.   
  
Had Bramblethorn ever succeeded in sharing any intimacy with Frodo, Monto wondered? He had never spoken of it specifically, only of his desire and that Frodo had once refused him. Darker thoughts began to grow in Monto's mind. What would it be like, taking that lithe form in one's arms? He grinned nastily. Frodo was nowhere near as strong as Monto nor was he in any sort of position to resist. Monto knew how to make a threat work to his advantage, and he could make sure Frodo didn't tell anyone.  
  
Monto eyed the lock on the door and twirled the key between his fingers. Before he could change his mind, he inserted the key and turned it carefully. The door opened quietly, and Monto peered into the room. The sound of low, even breathing came to him, telling him that Frodo was asleep. Monto let himself in and closed the door behind him silently, then stepped over to the bedside to gaze down at the sleeping captive.  
  
Frodo was unbound at the moment, having won that small favor by obeying Bramblethorn's command to dine with him the night before. He lay curled on his side, eyes closed and lips barely parted, sable curls spread across the pillow. Those curls looked so soft, and Monto began to reach down to touch them.   
  
As if alerted somehow to the very near presence of great danger, Frodo woke suddenly. His eyes snapped open and he gasped as he recoiled from Monto's touch. "W - what are you doing here?" he stammered.   
  
"Whatever I want," Monto responded with a sneer, and lunged at Frodo.   
  
Frodo rolled away from him with astonishing speed and bolted for the door, but Monto was no less swift. He latched onto Frodo's collar with one beefy hand and bore his struggling prey down to the floor.   
  
Terror gripped Frodo and he clawed at the floorboards. "Get out! Don't touch me!" he shouted, kicking at Monto in desperation. Monto slapped him squarely across the face, causing a trickle of blood to drip from his nose.   
  
Hands, tearing, rending, claiming. Threats, harsh in his ears and stinging slaps to his face. "You better not tell anyone," Monto sneered. "If you do, I'll take care of that cousin of yours, and that gardener too. I'll make it look like an accident."  
  
Frodo's mind whirled into an abyss of fear and shame. Don't, oh please DON'T, someone please, help, help, HELP! Was it his mind screaming or was he himself? Frodo couldn't tell if it was either or both as Monto's rough hands tore his shirt open.   
  
Frodo knew he was sobbing now, unable to control his tattered emotions as the violation continued. He was appalled not only by what was happening to him but also by a thought that had risen unchecked through his terror. Where was Bramblethorn? He certainly would not permit this! Frodo's head swam from another sharp blow. "The boss thinks you're something pretty special," Monto said with a leer, "and I aim to find out why."   
  
"Please stop! You're hurting me!" Frodo begged as Monto dug his fingers into Frodo's arms hard enough to leave bruises. One hand moved lower to pull at the fastenings of Frodo's breeches.   
  
"Keep still!" Monto ordered as he fumbled with the buttons. One button. Frodo tried to tear his attacker's hand away, to no avail. Two. Monto stopped long enough to slam Frodo back against the floor, stunning him momentarily. Three. Frodo roused slightly and kicked Monto in the midsection with all his remaining strength.  
  
"You dirty little - " Monto never got the rest of the sentence out. Footsteps sounded in the hallway, growing nearer. All at once the door was flung open and a thoroughly enraged Bramblethorn stormed into the room. Snarling, he hauled Monto to his feet and slammed his fist into the other hobbit's face, sending him reeling.   
  
Frodo acted without thought, obeying his instinct to flee. Just as he reached the door, Anson appeared and cut off his escape. With nowhere else to go, Frodo backed away and ended up with his back against the bedpost. He sank down to the floor, terrified and defeated, trembling violently.   
  
Across the room Bramblethorn hovered over his fallen henchman. "You worthless dung heap!" He shouted down at Monto. "Do you think you can lay your hands on my prize with impunity?"  
  
"He was, uh, tryin' to get away - " Monto stammered, but Bramblethorn cut him off.  
  
"What? With his shirt torn and his breeches unbuttoned? Am I to believe he achieved that state of his own accord?" He advanced on Monto menacingly and grabbed him by the collar. "YOU do not touch him. He is MINE," Bramblethorn growled in Monto's face. "I gave you leave to discipline him if need be, but nothing more!"   
  
Bramblethorn turned to Anson. "Get him out of here. I will deal with him later." He turned his attention to where Frodo sat, still trembling, sobs wracking his small frame. As Bramblethorn reached out, Frodo turned away. He was nearly insensible with fear as Bramblethorn's arms encircled him, pulling him into an embrace that was more possessive than protective.   
  
"Frodo, love," Bramblethorn said, rubbing Frodo's back and pulling him closer, "He's gone. If he touches you again, I shall kill him myself."   
  
Confusion warred with terror and shame as Frodo dimly realized that he was clutching Bramblethorn's arm tightly, as if seeking refuge in the embrace that he dreaded and sought desperately to avoid. He silently commanded himself to let go, to disengage himself from those arms, but his body ignored him and he continued to shake and sob, his hands fisted tightly in the fabric of Bramblethorn's shirt.   
  
Bramblethorn suppressed a smile. There was Frodo, in his arms and cleaving to him desperately, turning to him at last. He savored what he perceived to be the long - awaited surrender of his quarry. "Is this so terrible, Frodo dear?" he intoned as he smoothed Frodo's unruly curls. "Is it now so dreadful to be in my arms?"   
  
Frodo didn't answer. He was too lost in his chaotic thoughts and emotions. He tried to pretend other arms held him and that another voice whispered to him of a safe and comfortable place. He felt empty inside, as if something that had always been a part of him had been ripped away to be held within his sight but just beyond his reach.   
  
Bramblethorn turned his gaze to Anson, who had returned from removing Monto from the room. "Get me some of that tea from the kitchen," he demanded. "Just calm down, love. Let me hold you now. I can be gentle, you know," Bramblethorn told Frodo as he waited for Anson's return. No answer came from the shivering form in his arms.  
  
Anson reappeared with a steaming cup of something, and Bramblethorn held it to Frodo's lips. "Drink this, Frodo. It will calm your nerves, my poor dear."  
  
Still feeling more lost and helpless than he had ever before in his life, Frodo complied. The tea was obviously laced with a strong sedative, and Frodo could feel his breathing beginning to calm and his eyes starting to close. Escape, he thought, for his battered mind, if nothing else. He welcomed the darkness that took him.   
  
~*~  
  
As they entered the common room, Merry and Sam saw the innkeeper hailing them. "I've a message for you," he said as he led them past the tall front desk area. "Urgent, it says."  
  
"Thank you, sir," Merry said and accepted the envelope. The paper was heavy and of fine quality, bearing an ornate seal with a letter 'B'. Not for 'Baggins', as Bilbo had left them some years earlier and had not been seen since. Not for 'Brandybuck,' as it was not his father's seal pressed into the wax. 'Bramblethorn'. Merry gestured to Sam to follow him back to their room, and once there, he ripped the letter open.   
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
My dear Masters Brandybuck and Gamgee,  
  
I thought you might appreciate word of your dear Frodo from time to time, unless I am mistaken. He is secure in his own room, with supervision, of course. For the most part he has behaved himself quite nicely thus far. You are also to be congratulated for not having done anything foolish as yet.  
  
Frodo and I have spent some quality time together, you know. Just last night we shared a lovely meal. He is very becoming by candlelight, I must say.   
  
He says he misses you. Undoubtedly you miss him as well, do you not? How long will you miss him, I wonder? How long will it be before you will see his charming face again? Still trying to come up with full payment? Please, by all means, take your time.   
  
Very sincerely yours,  
  
Rushford Bramblethorn.  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Sam was shaking with rage. "The beast! He's taunting us, he is!"  
  
"Yes, Sam," Merry replied. "That's just his style, isn't it?" He sighed. "At least Frodo is all right, or so he says."  
  
"I wouldn't take his word for naught," Sam said with a disdainful sniff.   
  
"I have an idea, Sam. It may be to no avail, as Bramblethorn might not allow it, but we must try. Will you go and ask the innkeeper for the proper writing materials? We must respond to this letter, but not to Bramblethorn."  
  
"A letter to Mr. Frodo?" Sam said hopefully.  
  
"Yes, Sam. Bramblethorn may refuse to let him see it, but I want to try."   
  
Sam nodded and left the room. In a few minutes he returned, quill and clean page in one hand and a small bottle of ink in another.   
  
Merry placed the page on the table and began to scribble something on it.   
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
Dear Frodo,   
  
We are doing all we can to get payment and quickly. Every hour that you are away from us we grow more worried and miss you more greatly. We know you're trying to be strong and we are more sorry than words can say that we have left you with a creature like Bramblethorn. We would not risk harm to you, and that is the only reason that we have complied with his wishes. He had better keep his end of the bargain, or he will pay, believe us.  
  
Love,   
  
Merry and Sam.  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Sam signed his name alongside Merry's and a single teardrop fell to dampen the paper. Merry folded the note into an envelope and nodded gravely to Sam. "We shall send this with the next post."  
  
"But how do we know where to send it?" Sam asked plaintively. It wasn't as if either of them knew their way about Bree or the precise location of Bramblethorn's smial.   
  
"We'll have to rely upon the knowledge of the courier," Merry responded. "Unless I miss my guess, the locals will know Bramblethorn well enough that someone should be able to find him."  
  
Merry was through the door and on his way to the innkeeper's desk immediately, with Sam directly behind him. "Excuse me, sir," Merry called upward and the innkeeper's head appeared above the desk. "Will you please add this to your post and have the courier take it to a hobbit named Rushford Bramblethorn? I don't know the exact address, but I believe he lives in Breehill."  
  
The innkeeper nodded. "If your friend lives there, our runner will find him," he promised.   
  
Sam and Merry exchanged a glance, both fighting the temptation to state unequivocally that Bramblethorn was most certainly not their friend.  
  
"Thank you, sir," Sam said quietly as he and Merry turned and walked back toward their lodgings. When Sam and Merry had gone, the innkeeper held the message up to the light of the lantern on the desk, but nothing showed through the envelope. He put it down in disappointment, adding it to a stack of other communications awaiting the post.   
  
~*~  
  
Frodo stirred as a drop of cool water ran from his temple down to his ear, startling him to consciousness. Someone was dabbing at his face with a cool, damp cloth, and for a moment he almost let himself sink gratefully into the comfort of it. Half in dreams, he groaned and spoke a name. "Sam?"  
  
"Oh, please, Frodo," Bramblethorn said in an exasperated tone. "Not that blasted gardener again. No, I am not he." He touched the cloth to the scrape on Frodo's temple once again, and Frodo winced.  
  
"Oh. It's you," he said quietly, wanting nothing more fiercely than the solace of dreams again.   
  
"Yes love, it is I," Bramblethorn said calmly. "It was I who saved you from that lecherous clod Monto, and it was my arms that held you while you cried." He smiled broadly. "And you didn't seem to mind."  
  
"I was not myself," Frodo responded, trying to push back the fog that had settled over his mind from the sedative.   
  
"Is that any way to thank me for my timely intervention?" Bramblethorn chided. "I could have let him take you. I could have watched." Bramblethorn allowed a threatening note to enter his tone. "I could have helped."  
  
"You did. You left me alone with him." Frodo shuddered at the memory of the assault Bramblethorn had interrupted.   
  
"He shall not attempt such a thing again," Bramblethorn said gravely. "I shall not let him damage you."  
  
"No, you want that opportunity for yourself, don't you?" Frodo accused, sitting up with difficulty. The effects of the sedative had left him feeling as if he had been two - thirds of the way through a full bottle of Old Winyards. "I heard what you told him. You told him I'm yours. I'm sorry, but is isn't so."   
  
"Isn't it? Are you not entirely at my mercy, Frodo?" Bramblethorn placed his hands on Frodo's shoulders and pressed him back against the pillows. "Your gardener cannot help you this time. It's a good thing for you those Brandybucks have ample wealth. I should have demanded more." Bramblethorn kept one hand on Frodo's shoulder, and lifted Frodo's chin with the fingers of the other.  
  
A white - hot flicker of anger burned through Frodo at that statement, and before he had time to warn himself of the possible consequences, Frodo curled his fingers into a fist and belted Bramblethorn as hard as he could.   
  
Eyes blazing, Bramblethorn seized Frodo's wrist and gripped it hard. "You'll not be humbled easily, will you my lovely one?" Bramblethorn grinned nastily. "ANSON!" he shouted, and trained his gaze on Frodo's eyes, enjoying the sudden reappearance of fear in them. He still held Frodo's wrist in his grasp, and Frodo tried to pull it free, without success.   
  
Anson appeared in the doorway. "What ya need, boss?" he asked.   
  
"Rope. Now." Bramblethorn grabbed the other wrist and Frodo gasped.   
  
Anson did his employer's bidding, bringing in a couple of small coils of rope.  
  
"Bind him." Bramblethorn held Frodo's wrists out to either side and Anson helped him tether them to the bedposts. "That was ill - advised, Frodo," Bramblethorn said with a smug smile. "As we discussed before, if you misbehave, you will be punished. At the rate you're going, you had better hope Brandybuck gets the money for the payment soon."  
  
"Please untie me," Frodo said, his eyes pleading with Bramblethorn as well as his voice. "I'm sorry I struck you," Frodo lied.   
  
"Are you, love?" Bramblethorn asked, brushing his fingers lightly across Frodo's cheek. "If not, you shall be." Bramblethorn turned to Anson. "Let him remain as he is until I tell you to loose him."   
  
Anson nodded and followed Bramblethorn out the door. He locked it and took up his post in the hallway.   
  
"Where is Monto?" Bramblethorn asked Anson, his voice cold.  
  
"He's in the parlor with a cold compress on his face," Anson answered, very glad that he was not in disgrace with his employer.   
  
"Good. I'm going to have a word with him. Please don't disturb us unless it's absolutely necessary." Bramblethorn stalked down the hall toward the parlor. He entered to find Monto just where Anson had said he would be, lying on a sofa with a cold, damp rag pressed to his eye.   
  
"Sorry about the eye old boy," Bramblethorn said, seating himself in a chair nearby. "What possessed you?"  
  
"I don't know," Monto answered. "He's just, well, rather - "  
  
"Enticing? Yes, Frodo is that, certainly." Bramblethorn regarded his toady evenly. "He is also not your plaything."   
  
"I just wanted to, y'know," Monto stammered, "find out why you're so keen on him."  
  
"If I could tell you that in mere words, I would have great talent," Bramblethorn told him, reflecting on what a single glance at Frodo did to him. "You are fortunate that I'm in a good mood," he said, raising an eyebrow. "But believe me, if you try any such thing again, I will skin you with a blunt implement and use your smelly hide for book bindings. Do we understand each other?"  
  
"We do," Monto replied shortly. He had seen Bramblethorn's temper before this, and he felt fortunate indeed that his boss didn't give him the lash for what he'd done, or rather tried to do.   
  
"The fact is, I still need your services," Bramblethorn explained. "In a way, your actions may have been of some value."  
  
Monto wondered at Bramblethorn's statement. "How do you reckon that, boss?" he muttered, still holding the cloth against the eye Bramblethorn had blackened.  
  
"Your attack left him shuddering in my arms. He clung to me like a child to his mother," Bramblethorn said thoughtfully. "If we work together, I might bend him to my wishes yet." Bramblethorn considered the prospects. "But remember," he warned, "Frodo is mine. Scare him if it suits you, bruise him if you must. But leave him to my tender care and expend your own lust elsewhere."   
  
"All right, boss," Monto said, and Bramblethorn lit his pipe. He leaned back in the chair and smoked in silence.  
  
~*~ To be continued ~*~ 


	11. Unraveling

Peony - There are definitely some psychological games being played here. Not only is Frodo a prisoner, he can look only to his captor to protect him now! Bramblethorn may protect him from Monto, but can he protect him from himself?  
  
Iorhael - If I were Frodo I would have hit Brablethorn for that remark too. Poor dear!  
  
Honey Dipped Rose - Bramblethorn is going to let Monto torment Frodo just a little bit, in order for Bramblethorn to 'save' him. A nasty little plan to break Frodo down and get him to turn to his captor for comfort.  
  
Sam - Sam will be back, believe me! Meanwhile, Bramblethorn is still busy with his plans for Frodo.  
  
Stephanie - Thanks for naming this fic 'the best'! That's a huge compliment! I do already have the whole story written, so I do know what happens! The name of my villain came from my wanting it to be something that sounds prickly and nasty, like you wouldn't want to step on it barefoot.  
  
FrodoBaggins87 - More shivers on the way!  
  
CuriousCat - Bramblethorn is twisted, isn't he? He does want Frodo to submit, more than anything. Monto doesn't mind getting to rough Frodo up a bit either.  
  
Hobbitfeet13 - Frodo will keep his feistiness, believe me. He is starting to unravel a bit though, hence the title of this chapter.  
  
GamgeeFest - Bramblethorn is most certainly deluded with regard to Frodo. Merry and Sam will soon realize that something isn't right. Bramblethorn hates it when Frodo mentions Sam in front of him.  
  
KT SHY - The dynamics here are quite complex, aren't they? I figured it would be good angst if Frodo has to look to his hated enemy to save him. Frodo might be safe for the moment, but who knows?  
  
Endymion2 - If Monto hadn't waited so long to decide to attack Frodo, he would most certainly have succeeded. Frodo will keep his spirit as always, but he is starting to break down a little bit. The innkeeper will have his part in things, certainly.   
  
Anarie - Monto was pretty close to succeeding, if Bramblethorn hadn't stopped him. Bramblethorn is being as patient as he can, but how long can he keep it up?  
  
Aelfgifu - Will Frodo try to escape? I'd say so, if he gets the chance. The odds are very much against him right now.  
  
Trust No One - Bramblethorn will have to be very crafty if he hopes to get Frodo where he wants him without the use of force. He'll have to be patient, too, and that's a tough one for him!  
  
FrodoBaggins1982 - Frodo will get his share of shots in against Bramblethorn as we go. There's no way he will give in easily.   
  
Spootasia Tomoe - Frodo will continue to battle his nemesis. Brramblethorn is hoping that Frodo will begin to break down and identify with him on some level, and that's the main reason he intercepted Merry's letter to his father. The longer he can delay Merry and Sam, the more time he has to work on Frodo.  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
Chapter 10 - Unraveling  
  
~*~ Morning ~*~  
  
The post had arrived early, and Bramblethorn flipped through the various small items on his desk. One in particular caught his eye, an envelope with letters hastily scrawled upon it. He opened it and pulled the note out, unfolding it to see what it said.   
  
A wide grin spread across his face. How endearing, he thought. A letter to Frodo from his cousin and his gardener. Keep your chin up, old boy. We're pulling for you, and so forth. He tucked it back into the envelope, opened up a drawer in his desk, and dropped it in to join another similar envelope with an address scratched upon it in the same handwriting. Merry's second missive fell into the dark space to join his first, both unseen by their intended recipients.  
  
~*~  
  
Numb. Frodo realized with dismay that he could feel little sensation in his hands or arms as he tugged at his bonds again. He had tried without success to measure the hours as they passed, and he knew only that he had been in his present position for quite a while, perhaps all through the previous afternoon, evening and night.   
  
He wanted only one thing, for someone to come and release him. On the heels of that thought, came the realization of who that someone would likely be. Bramblethorn. Did that mean that Frodo would actually be glad to see him when he stepped into the room, undoubtedly smirking to himself? Glad to see Bramblethorn. The idea was ludicrous, but a hideous possibility, Frodo admitted to himself.   
  
What if Bramblethorn did not come himself to see him out of his bonds? Suppose he sent Anson or Monto? Or both? What if they just left him there, for another day and another night? What if -   
  
The door opened and Bramblethorn walked in, carrying something in his hand, something made of cloth. He set it down on the bed, seated himself at Frodo's side, and reached out to finger the scratchy surface of the rope around one slim wrist.  
  
"Frodo, love, it's morning," Bramblethorn crooned. "Are you feeling at all repentant for your performance yesterday? Would you like to be released?"  
  
"Yes," Frodo responded weakly, suddenly aware that he had inadvertently just answered not only the latter, but both of Bramblethorn's questions affirmatively. He cringed at his error, but Bramblethorn didn't seem to notice.   
  
"Poor dear, how uncomfortable your night must have been," Bramblethorn said as he unbound first one wrist, then the other. Frodo's arms flopped limply onto the bed, and he stared at Bramblethorn apprehensively.   
  
"Let us try to make today more pleasant, shall we?" Bramblethorn reached for the torn shirt Frodo was still wearing and began to unfasten the remaining buttons.   
  
"Please, don't," Frodo whispered, turning his eyes away from the sight of Bramblethorn leaning over him. "You mustn't! Please, I can't bear it!"  
  
"Don't be frightened, Frodo," Bramblethorn said quietly. "I'm not going to hurt you. I merely wish to remove this tattered rag you're wearing in favor of something more presentable." Bramblethorn pulled Frodo upright and slid the torn shirt from his shoulders. Frodo willed his hands to reach out and prevent the action, but his arms were now tingling sharply and still refused to obey his commands. Bramblethorn pulled on the cuffs and exposed one arm, then the other. Shirtless and wincing at the pins and needles prickling in his skin as circulation resumed, Frodo continued to avert his eyes.   
  
Bramblethorn tore his gaze from Frodo reluctantly, and picked up the item he had brought with him, one of his own fine linen shirts. It would be a little too large for Frodo, but it would be better than the damaged thing he had just eased from Frodo's shoulders.   
  
"Lift up your arm, Frodo, won't you?" Bramblethorn asked as he held up the shirt.   
  
"I can't," Frodo muttered, still not meeting Bramblethorn's gaze. "It hurts."  
  
"Ahh. Of course it does," Bramblethorn agreed. "You've been bound for many hours, I'm afraid. But that won't be necessary again, will it, Frodo, dear?" Bramblethorn asked.   
  
Not waiting for an answer or really expecting to receive one, Bramblethorn lifted Frodo's arm himself and pulled the sleeve of the shirt up over the slender, long - fingered hand. He repeated the action with the other arm and settled the shirt neatly about Frodo's slumped shoulders. He buttoned it slowly, carefully, as if it were a fragile thing wrought of something finer and more rare than cloth.   
  
"Much better, don't you think?" Bramblethorn said with a smile.   
  
"Thank you," Frodo replied dimly. And what was he thanking Bramblethorn for? For the shirt to replace the one that served as a bitter reminder of the horrifying events of the previous day? For refraining from using Frodo's present situation as an opportunity to take liberties of his own?   
  
"You are angry with me," Bramblethorn observed. "I should have expected as much." He took one of Frodo's hands and began to rub life back into it, and Frodo gave him a pained look. Bramblethorn chose to ignore it.   
  
"I thought today we might have a little breakfast together, and then I have something to show you." Bramblethorn stood and gestured for Frodo to follow.   
  
"Where are they?" Frodo asked cautiously. He didn't hear anything in the hallway that told of the presence of either of his minders.  
  
"I have set them other tasks this morning," Bramblethorn said vaguely. "You will not be bothered by them, I promise. Come, Frodo, breakfast is waiting."  
  
Frodo reluctantly followed, immeasurably glad to be free of restraints and locked doors for the moment. He felt a sudden twinge of irritation at being glad of anything regarding his present situation. The only thing he should be truly glad of would be his release from captivity, to re - join Merry and Sam.   
  
Bramblethorn continued on to the dining room, and turned to wave Frodo in before him. The table stood ready with fresh tea and scones, eggs and bacon. It smelled very good.  
  
"You must be hungry, since you missed supper last night." Bramblethorn pulled out a chair and waited for Frodo to sit down. Once Frodo had complied, he seated himself across the table and passed a scone to Frodo.   
  
The entire tableau seemed unreal to Frodo as he looked around him. It might have been that the effects of the sedative he'd been dosed with the previous day had not worn off entirely, but there was something entirely too uncanny about Bramblethorn's unusually civil behavior.   
  
"Why are you doing this?" Frodo asked suddenly. It was completely out of character for Bramblethorn to be so kind to him, and Frodo was unsettled by it.  
  
"Your pardon, Frodo, dear?" Bramblethorn asked, all innocence.  
  
"Why are you suddenly being so kind to me, after all of the other things you've done?" Frodo looked Bramblethorn in the eyes and waited for an answer.   
  
Bramblethorn's brow furrowed as he considered Frodo's query. "Would you rather I behaved differently? Really, Frodo, we need not be at each others' throats all of the time."  
  
"I suppose we need not, it's true," Frodo agreed reluctantly. "But it seems for every kindness, no matter how small, with you there is always a price."   
  
"You're very perceptive, Frodo," Bramblethorn complimented. "But you are already aware of the small things I ask of you in return. I wish only that you will neither flee nor fight."  
  
"I cannot promise such a thing," Frodo said honestly. "Despite your hospitality - " Frodo gestured to the meal in front of him, "I do not wish to be here. I wish to be with Merry and Sam."  
  
Bramblethorn sighed. "Even after they left you here, alone and frightened, and in grave danger? They still command so much of your loyalty, recent events notwithstanding?"  
  
It was Frodo's turn to frown. "I love them both very dearly, and they care very much for me as well."  
  
"But yet you have heard not one word from them, have you, Frodo?" Bramblethorn shook his head and schooled his features into a sad expression. "Not one word of encouragement, one statement of sorrow for your unfortunate situation." No, Frodo had not received word from his cousin and gardener, nor would he, if Bramblethorn had his way.  
  
Bramblethorn's words stung Frodo deeply, and he was unable to keep a stricken expression from his face. "They fear for me. They don't trust you not to do something terrible if they - "  
  
"I'm sorry if I've upset you, love," Bramblethorn soothed. "Your breakfast is getting cold."   
  
Frodo made no further reply. He finished his meal in silence, although his appetite had disappeared long since. Bramblethorn rose from the table and stood beside Frodo. "Come along, Frodo. As I've said, I have something I want to show you." Frodo looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. "Don't worry about the dishes. They will be taken care of." Bramblethorn extended his hand to Frodo. Frodo rose without taking it.   
  
"Circumstances have caused you to see very little of my home thus far," Bramblethorn rattled on as they made their way down the hall. Frodo was lagging behind, and Bramblethorn turned and looked at him pointedly. "Must I take your hand and lead you, Frodo?" He put a companionable arm around Frodo's shoulders, ignoring the flinch that it precipitated.   
  
Bramblethorn led the way to a set of double doors with brass handles. He flung them open wide, revealing a substantial library, shelves lined with many books. It was nothing at all in comparison with Brandy Hall's library, but impressive for a private one.   
  
"You will find I've a good selection of reading materials," Bramblethorn said invitingly. "Perhaps there is something here that might interest you."   
  
"Perhaps," Frodo said, rather sadly. As much as he enjoyed books, they were no substitute for the people he loved, for freedom. He sank down into an armchair and rather listlessly picked up the nearest leather bound volume.   
  
"Cheer up, love. Look around you. You're in a lovely, cozy room, with naught to bind you but the spell of a good tale." Bramblethorn took a chair nearby and found a book of his own. He began reading calmly, only looking up from time to time to see if Frodo was doing the same.   
  
Frodo sighed and gave the book his attention. Perhaps it would take his mind off things, and settle his still rather frayed nerves. He had awakened bound and afraid, only to be coddled and petted like a favorite child. The contrast was so stark, it frightened him more than it would if Bramblethorn had been abusive to him.   
  
Old habits and loves are not easily banished, and before long, Frodo was absorbed in the book. It was a history of Breeland and the surrounding areas, and for once he found that a tale of the lands of the Big Folk was actually rather interesting.   
  
It was an hour or so later that he heard something that caused him to lower the book and peer cautiously at Bramblethorn. The other hobbit was dozing and snoring lightly, his book upside down upon his chest and his feet resting upon a low stool in front of his chair.   
  
A sharp memory gripped Frodo as he looked at the door, so invitingly ajar beyond Bramblethorn's chair. Another door, not ajar, but closed. A telling squeak of hinges that had betrayed his flight and awakened his captor. A desperate dash for freedom that had ended in pain and darkness.   
  
As if mesmerized, Frodo set the book on the table silently and kept his eyes fixed upon the doors of the library. He moved toward them, almost without realizing that he was placing one foot in front of the other. Bramblethorn dozed on, unaware that his captive was attempting escape.  
  
Frodo paused, swallowing hard and trying to calm the pounding of his heart. He thought about using something in the room as a weapon of some kind, but there was nothing nearby, not even a candlestick. There was nothing with which to strike Bramblethorn unconscious, and Frodo wondered if he would even be successful if he attempted such a thing. Opting instead for stealth, Frodo made his way to the door of the library with silent steps.  
  
The hinges were well - oiled and the door kept its silence as Frodo opened it wider. He peered carefully into the hallway, looking left, then right. Bramblethorn had said Monto and Anson were about other duties that morning. Were they away, then?   
  
Frodo stepped into the hallway. Where was the exit, he wondered as his heart thudded loudly in his ears. His eyes had been covered when Monto and Anson had delivered him into Bramblethorn's clutches. He steeled himself and made a right - hand turn down the corridor. It branched off again, and he stood at the junction, peering down one of the hallways. As he stepped into it, an indignant shout shattered the silence and betrayed his flight.   
  
"Hey! Just where do you think you're goin'?" Monto had appeared as if from nowhere and was rapidly closing the distance between himself and Frodo.  
  
Frodo gasped and fled, rushing blindly down the corridor and hoping the exit lay somewhere ahead of him. His hopes were dashed as he came up against a locked door that obviously led someplace other than to the world outside. He was trapped! Frodo grasped the doorknob and rattled it, but it was locked. Wherever the door led, it would not be his salvation. With no other alternative, Frodo turned to face the enemy who approached him.  
  
"How did you get loose?" Monto snarled as he reached out toward Frodo, his face contorted in an ugly sneer. "Don't matter, I s'pose, since I've got you now," he gloated.   
  
"NO!" Frodo cried out in frustration and horror. "Stay away from me!" Frodo struck out against Monto in a desperate attempt to escape capture. The blow landed and Monto lurched backward as Frodo tried to leap past him.  
  
"Like to play rough, do ya?" Monto snared Frodo by one arm and slammed him into the wall. "The boss won't let me play with you, but he don't mind if I teach you a lesson or two," Monto advised as Frodo struggled in his grasp.   
  
"Let go of me!" Frodo cried as he tried to twist away from Monto. Failing in his effort, he sank his teeth into the nearest part of his adversary he could reach.   
  
Monto howled and yanked his arm back, inadvertently releasing Frodo as he did so. Frodo ran back up the corridor and veered off down another. This time, a large, round door loomed ahead of him enticingly. Just as his fingertips brushed the smooth wood, Monto caught him again. The burly hobbit spun Frodo around to face him and delivered a sharp slap to his face.  
  
"I've had enough of you, pretty boy," Monto sneered. "You're more trouble than you're worth, in my opinion." Monto drew back to strike Frodo again. Pinned firmly against the door, Frodo closed his eyes and waited for the blow to fall. Instead, he heard a voice at the end of the hallway.  
  
"Hold, Monto," Bramblethorn commanded as he strode toward them. "Have I not expressed myself well enough with regard to your handling of Frodo?"  
  
"The little rat bit me," Monto said defensively, giving Frodo a hard shake as he spoke.  
  
"Did he now?" Bramblethorn asked calmly as he gave Frodo a measuring look. "Was your breakfast not adequate, love?" he teased. Frodo stiffened.   
  
Growing serious, Bramblethorn regarded his captive. "Will you never learn, Frodo?" he said, shaking his head. "Have you heard not a single word that I've said during our time together?"  
  
"I've heard more than enough!" Frodo shouted. "You want me to submit to you meekly, but I'll not do it!"  
  
"And so you would brave Monto's wrath and my own in your attempt to flee, rather than accept the comfort I offer you?" Bramblethorn's tone held a note of condescension that only fueled Frodo's anger.   
  
"I shall take no comfort in you nor in anything you offer me!" Frodo shot back, pulling his arm out of Monto's grasp. "I hate you and whatever game you're playing, and I'll not be party to it!"  
  
"Your words wound me, my sweet," Bramblethorn said as he fixed Frodo with a sharp gaze. "Perhaps you will be less inclined to speak so harshly after a little time alone." Bramblethorn turned to Monto. "You've done well, Monto, and I thank you. Give him to me, and prepare his room."   
  
Monto gave Frodo a hard shove toward Bramblethorn and he stumbled, straight into Bramblethorn's arms. Bramblethorn held him fast, and whispered into his ear. "You have not kept your promises, Frodo. Therefore, I am released from mine."   
  
Frodo's head spun as Bramblethorn pulled him into the room, and dragged him toward the bed. The courage his anger had provided him was beginning to fade as he contemplated Bramblethorn's words. "Please, don't bind me again!" Frodo heard himself begging and loathed himself for it.   
  
"How can you ask that of me when you have betrayed my trust so thoroughly, love?" Bramblethorn asked as Monto appeared with rope in hand. "I will do what I must to keep you in your place, up to and including binding you."   
  
"You would have done as I did," Frodo reasoned desperately as Monto approached him. "Were you in my place you would try to escape."  
  
"But I am not in your place, Frodo." Bramblethorn reminded him as he pulled Frodo's hands behind him and pressed him face down onto the bed. He nodded to Monto, who happily wrapped the rope around Frodo's wrists again.   
  
"If I were you, boss, I'd put him in the cellar an' let the rats have a nibble," Monto advised, giving a sharp tug on the rope around Frodo's ankles.   
  
Lying face down on the bed, Frodo couldn't see Bramblethorn wink at his henchman. It was show time. "Well, you're not me, are you?" he said, sitting down on the bed and lightly stroking Frodo's hair. "Leave us."  
  
Monto turned and left the room, taking up his post outside again.   
  
"I am sorry, Frodo, believe me." Bramblethorn rolled Frodo onto his side and brushed his fingers across his face, which was already beginning to swell where Monto had struck him. "Did he hurt you?"  
  
"What do you care if he did?" Frodo asked, averting his gaze.  
  
"What do I care?" Bramblethorn echoed, sounding disappointed. "I care more than you realize," he said calmly. "Have I not saved you from further abuse at his hands?"  
  
Frodo ignored the question. "I thought you said he wasn't about," he said shakily.   
  
"I sent him on a few errands this morning. He must have only just returned." Bramblethorn brushed the first of Frodo's tears away even as it fell. "I am sorry you had to encounter him as you did, but you shouldn't have left my side."  
  
"You cannot ask me not to," Frodo said, his voice breaking.   
  
"Bear this in mind, Frodo," Bramblethorn said evenly. "As long as you are with me, you are safe from him. I gave him that colorful eye he's sporting, as you remember, but I will not discharge him from my service. I have warned him quite thoroughly, but - " Bramblethorn trailed off, pulling Frodo close and kissing his forehead.   
  
"Don't let him - " Frodo heard himself say. "Please don't let him touch me again!"   
  
"I shall watch him as closely as I am able, and to my knowledge Anson has no designs upon you." Bramblethorn released Frodo and gently eased him down on the bed again. "But I too must sleep, Frodo. I cannot watch him every minute. You should have remained in my company, and not gone off and provoked him."   
  
"What of you?" Frodo asked. "The last time I escaped from you - "  
  
"The last time you tried something so foolish, I was very angry with you. I am quite disappointed now, I must say." Bramblethorn regarded Frodo sternly. "I must be growing more patient as the years pass me by," he mused. "Either that, or I have grown too fond of you to harm you with my own hands."   
  
"And so you let them," Frodo cried, his voice rising. "You let them strike me, and tear at me!" Fear had replaced anger now, and it was evident in Frodo's eyes.   
  
"Now, now, dear. Hysterics do not become you," Bramblethorn said, secretly pleased to see Frodo unraveling before him. He stood and moved to the door, opened it slightly and said something to Monto. He returned to Frodo, who was weeping openly now, his bound form shaking.   
  
"I've asked for more tea for you, dear." Bramblethorn scooped Frodo up into his arms and held him close. "I shall stay nearby while you rest and calm yourself."   
  
The sight of Monto entering the room bearing a cup of tea made Frodo nearly frantic. He twisted in Bramblethorn's embrace, crying out, "Untie me! Please, in the name of the Valar, release me!"   
  
Bramblethorn continued to hold Frodo as Monto tipped his head back and held his nose, forcing Frodo to open his mouth to draw breath. In an instant the teacup was at his lips and the sedative was administered. "Sweet dreams," Monto said snidely and walked out.   
  
"How - how could you - " Frodo sobbed brokenly.   
  
"Would you have allowed me to give you the tea?" Bramblethorn asked. "Would you have taken it from me? No, Frodo. You are too distraught, my poor dear."   
  
Within minutes, Frodo's sobs became a quieter flow of tears, and his struggles ceased as the drug numbed his senses. He felt himself sinking, drifting away.   
  
Bramblethorn remained for some time, his arms wrapped around Frodo securely. So close, he thought. So close to his victory! He owed Monto a debt it seemed. The more Frodo feared Bramblethorn's bodyguard, the easier it was for Bramblethorn to present himself as a safe harbor in the storm. Just a few more days of this and no contact with that dratted Brandybuck and that foolish gardener, and Frodo should be genuinely glad to see Bramblethorn whenever he appeared.   
  
~*~ Later ~*~  
  
Bramblethorn held Frodo's damaged shirt in his hands, thoughtfully stroking the fabric. An idea came to him. "I know just what to do with this," he muttered to himself. He folded the shirt neatly and wrapped it in tissue paper. He added an outer layer of paper and tied the bundle with a string. He pondered whether or not to send a note, but decided the parcel itself spoke volumes. He inscribed delivery instructions on the outer layer of paper and summoned Anson to bear the parcel to its intended destination.   
  
~*~ To be continued ~*~ 


	12. Warm

Endymion2 - Bramblethorn is so supremely confident in his position that he doesn't fear any consequences for taunting Sam and Merry. He trusts that his threats will be enough. Frodo has his moments when he seems to be succumbing to Bramblethorn's wishes, but half the time it's a drug - induced reaction. He still has plenty of inner resistance left.  
  
Sam - Bramblethorn may think he's getting Frodo to like him, but there are some things that just aren't entirely possible. Frodo is getting to the point where he's willing to take the risk of attempting to escape.   
  
Peony - There are many ways Bramblethorn can break down Frodo's defiance, and he's not above using any of them. We'll see how much defiance Frodo can maintain in the face of such adversity.  
  
Iorhael - Frodo is not completely broken yet. After every nasty thing Bramblethorn does to him, he seems to recover for the most part. But how long can he keep it up?  
  
Stephanie - Merry and Sam will receive the package from Bramblethorn in this chapter, and it will provoke some reaction. Bramblethorn doesn't like Sam very much. After all, he has what Bramblethorn wants, and has come between Bramblethorn and his plans for Frodo twice in the past.  
  
Heartofahobbit - That's cool that Bramblethorn has inspired a villain of your own. He's quite flattered! Frodo isn't completely undone yet. When Bramblethorn isn't drugging him, he's a bit more his defiant self.   
  
Shelbyshire - Thanks for joining in! I'm glad you like the stories. I'll continue to update every couple of days or so. Frodo is definitely doing a bit of squirming, and so is Sam!  
  
FrodoBaggins1982 - I appreciate what you're saying, but I have to differ on a couple of points. It may seem too early in the story for Frodo to try to escape, but I wonder. He's been there about 4 days, and during that time he's been beaten, isolated, intimidated, drugged and assaulted. I think under such circumstances, if I found the odds suddenly looking more even, I would risk it. As to the acceptance of the book, Frodo has been isolated in a small room with nothing better to do but think about the fact that he's in a great deal of danger and how much he misses the people he loves. Regardless of the source of the distraction, I think if I were him I would be more than tempted by it. It's hard to compare Frodo in this scenario to Frodo on the quest partly because he had Sam with him to comfort him and urge him on during the journey. There's no comfort here except that which is offered with a darker ulterior motive.  
  
Spootasia Tomoe - Don't worry! I won't let Frodo give up.   
  
GamgeeFest - Bramblethorn has his plans, but he's always looking out for additional opportunities. Merry and Sam will realize very soon that something is up. Frodo's nerves are getting a bit frayed at this point, but he still has plenty of fight left in him.   
  
FrodoBaggins87 - It is doubtful that Frodo will fall for Bramblethorn. He may eventually come to understand him a little better, but fall for him? Never!  
  
Anarie - Frodo doesn't have a lot of options at this point. It's coming down to his submitting just enough to keep from getting hurt.  
  
Trust No One - There are some things that are just too extreme for Frodo to consider right now, if you know what I mean. The absence of his loved ones and so much nastiness around him is tough for him, though.  
  
Aratlithiel1 - Frodo definitely has not lost his inner strength. The drugs are no help to him, nor the constant threat of harm, but he's still got his wits.  
  
Aelfgifu - Bramblethorn was testing Frodo to some degree. He now knows he has more work ahead of him if he wants to get Frodo to submit. He has no idea how much!  
  
Hobbitfeet13 - Bramblethorn and his cronies are pretty awful. Frodo's isolation from the people he cares about combined with being surrounded by so many harsh enemies is wearing on him a bit.   
  
Girlofring - I think Frodo will have to convince Sam that Sam didn't leave him. Merry and Sam are soon to realize something isn't right.  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Chapter 11 - Warm  
  
Merry paced the floor of the room at the inn, chafing at the thought of the amount of time it was taking to obtain the funds necessary to free Frodo. His request for assistance should be reaching Buckland that day or the next, by his estimation.  
  
What would his father have to say when he read what Merry had written? There was no question that help would be sent. The Master of Buckland and his family wouldn't dream of denying any assistance that was meant to help Frodo.   
  
Who would Saradoc send on the errand? Surely he would not be able to come himself, Buckland having just completed its harvest. It would be a busy time for the Master of the Hall. There would be at least two hobbits dispatched to bring the money to Bree, Merry reasoned. It was a large sum, and it would be unwise for a traveler on the road to carry as much without company.   
  
Lastly, Merry berated himself for having let his father down, and his cousin as well. He had come on a mission to Bree to prevent hunger in Buckland, and had ended up effectively emptying the coffers of Brandy Hall and getting his cousin into a situation so dangerous, it left Merry nearly panicked to think of it.   
  
The sound of the door opening and closing broke through his thoughts. Sam had returned from a trip to the innkeeper's desk, and he bore a parcel in his hands. "Mr. Merry," he began quietly, not wanting to cause Merry further distress. "The innkeeper gave me this. He said it arrived this morning."  
  
Sam put the parcel on the table and Merry came to stand by his side. They looked at it apprehensively. It bore no other markings save their names and the name of the inn, but there was only one place it could have come from.   
  
Merry untied the string and pulled away the outer layer of paper reluctantly. Inside was something carefully wrapped in tissue paper. He lifted it and unfolded it slowly as his heart began to pound in his chest.   
  
"Sweet stars, Sam," Merry breathed, as he beheld Frodo's shirt, wrinkled and torn, hanging limp and forlorn in his hands. Sam's face was absolutely white and he began to shake with fear and rage.   
  
"I'll kill him!" Sam's features contorted with the agony he felt gripping his heart. "He's hurt Mr. Frodo, I know he has!" Sam turned and bolted for the door. Merry lunged after him.   
  
"Where are you going, Sam?" Merry asked fearfully, although he believed he already knew the answer.   
  
"I'm gonna find that nasty smial of his," Sam shouted, "an' I'm gonna bust the door down an' throttle him with my bare hands!" Sam rushed out the door with Merry on his heels. Merry's fingertips brushed Sam's sleeve as he tried to get a grip on the maddened gardener.   
  
"Please, Sam! Wait!" Merry shouted, but Sam paid him no mind. He ran out into the street and looked up at the hills above the village where a number of large smials were located. Sam gritted his teeth and hurried on as Merry gave chase.   
  
Sam, though grown strong from his labors in the garden, hadn't Merry's quick, lithe physique, and Merry caught up with him easily.   
  
"Sam! Sam!" Merry shouted at him, "We can't do this, not now!" Merry tried to catch his breath. "It's not that I'm not furious too, but remember the knife!" Merry spun Sam around to face him, and looked into his eyes. "We don't know for certain that Bramblethorn has hurt Frodo," he reasoned, "but we know he will if we attempt to rescue him."  
  
A fresh flood of tears extinguished the fire that had been blazing in Sam's eyes. "But Mr. Frodo's shirt - "  
  
"Bramblethorn sent it to us to cause us pain, and he has succeeded," Merry admitted openly. "It's torn, yes, but there's no - " Merry choked on the word and had to pause before going on. "There's no blood on it, at least."   
  
As if all the horrible possibilities were coming to life in Sam's mind at the same time, lurid and sharp visions that followed end on end in rapid succession, Sam collapsed to his knees and buried his face in his hands. Merry knelt beside him and took Sam's grief into himself, letting it mingle with his own.  
  
~*~  
  
Bramblethorn sat pondering the game so far. Frodo had been in his care for about four days, enough time for Merry's message to his father to have reached Buckland, had it not been intercepted en route. Bramblethorn figured he had another four days or so before Frodo's cousin and gardener would begin to feel real desperation when help failed to arrive in due time.   
  
Would they attempt to contact Frodo again? Bramblethorn thought it likely, especially when they received the latest item he had sent them. He could just imagine the looks on their faces - Sam's especially - when they opened that package and saw Frodo's shirt. He grinned nastily to himself. Perhaps he should send them Frodo's breeches next.  
  
But no, that would defeat his purpose. He had tried to force Frodo before, and he had not succeeded. Of course, he would have, if not for the intervention of that gardener. But wouldn't it be that much sweeter if Frodo simply came to him?   
  
At first, Bamblethorn had been furious with Monto for his attempted assault on Frodo, but when Frodo had lain sobbing in his arms, Bramblethorn had seen a benefit in the act. Now, every time Monto threatened or struck Frodo, Bramblethorn could present himself as Frodo's protector, the only one who could save him from such things.   
  
He sighed as he thought of the events of the previous morning. He had given Frodo too much freedom too quickly, and had nearly lost his prize as a result. He would not be so foolish again, he determined. He must break down Frodo's defenses slowly, draw him closer little by little.   
  
He rose and made his way down the hall to Frodo's room. Frodo had been sedated since late the previous morning, and the afternoon was growing old now. A storm threatened, and the usual sunlight that filtered through the smial's windows was notably absent as the clouds gathered and the wind began to gust outside.   
  
Monto stood at his post by the door, looking bored. "Anything new to report?" Bramblethorn asked him.  
  
"No, sir. Not a peep, I'm afraid." Monto smiled. "Is it time to wake him up, then?"  
  
"Yes, Monto, I suspect it is," Bramblethorn answered. "Take some fresh linens and change the bed. You have leave to restrain him as need be, but remember what I told you about anything else."  
  
Monto nodded. His eye was still sore from Bramblethorn's punch. "No funny stuff, I swear," he said, going down the hall to retrieve the linens for the bed.   
  
Bramblethorn addressed him once more. "I will come to check on him in a while. I'll be in my study until then." He turned and walked down the hall, and disappeared through the door of his study to smoke and read for a while.  
  
Monto opened the door and stepped inside, placing the pile of fresh bed linens atop the trunk that sat against the wall. Frodo lay unmoving, still sleeping off the effects of the sedative. "Wake up, pretty boy," Monto said with a sneer, shaking Frodo harder than was necessary. "C'mon, open them pretty eyes for me."  
  
Frodo opened his eyes and looked groggily at Monto. "You're not supposed to be here," he said thickly.   
  
"Oh, I still have to watch over you, whether you like it or not," Monto informed him. "I've been told I gotta play chambermaid, and I'm in no mood for any of your sass." Monto grabbed Frodo's upper arms and sat him upright. "I'm movin' you to that chair over there so I can change the linens."  
  
Monto unbound Frodo's hands and feet and forced him to stand. Frodo wove unsteadily on his feet as he was guided rather roughly to the chair. "Too bad the boss interrupted us the other day," Monto remarked as he shoved Frodo into the chair and began to bind him again.   
  
"Too bad he didn't kill you outright," Frodo shot back as alertness began to return. His hatred for Monto overrode his fear of him momentarily, and the remark slipped out before he could think better of it. He grunted as Monto yanked hard on the rope he was winding around Frodo's upper arms, securing him to the back of the chair.   
  
With the task of securing Frodo completed, Monto quickly stripped the linens from the bed and replaced them with the new ones. He dumped the old ones in a pile at Frodo's feet and leaned close to the bound hobbit's face. "If the boss gets bored with you, I'll be waiting," he taunted. "Gimme a kiss." He made as if to press his lips to Frodo's, and Frodo writhed against his bonds and turned his head.   
  
"Get away from me!" he cried, and Monto laughed.   
  
"It don't take much to rile you up, does it?" He reached for the ewer on the washstand. The water in it had grown cold, and Monto dumped it over Frodo's head, soaking him. "That oughtta cool you off some," he gloated. He picked up the pile of linens again and left Frodo sputtering and shivering alone.  
  
~*~  
  
An hour had passed since Bramblethorn had gone to his study, and he stood up and stretched. It was time to check on Frodo, and he padded down the hall to where Monto stood outside the door.   
  
"Did he behave himself?" Bramblethorn asked his henchman as he stood in the hallway.   
  
"He got a little sassy with me so I dumped some water over his head to cool him off," Monto confessed.   
  
Bramblethorn raised an eyebrow. "That should be interesting. I'd better go and take care of him, hmmm?"   
  
Monto unlocked the door and Bramblethorn sauntered in to find Frodo bound to the chair, still dripping, with his teeth chattering. The storm had brought lower temperatures with it, and the room was rather chilly.   
  
"Frodo dear, what am I to do with you?" Bramblethorn said with a sigh. He took Frodo's face in his hands and smiled. "This just won't do, will it?"   
  
Bramblethorn left the room briefly and returned carrying a heavy robe and some thick towels. "We've got to get you dry and warm you up, love." He began to loosen Frodo's bonds. "Now remember, Frodo. No trouble. If you want me to help you, I shall, but you must behave yourself."  
  
When Bramblethorn had loosed Frodo from the chair, he picked up one of the towels and began rubbing Frodo's hair with it. Frodo pulled away, but Bramblethorn grabbed him and held him against the back of the chair. "I said not to give me any trouble, dear, or I shall return you to the state in which I found you."   
  
The threat worked. Frodo was miserably cold and wet, and now was not the time to anger his captor. He sat still, except for the chills that shuddered through him, as Bramblethorn continued to dry him.   
  
"We'll have to get you out of those wet clothes," Bramblethorn said, and Frodo's heart nearly stopped. Not here, not in front of -   
  
"Up you go, love," Bramblethorn said, pulling Frodo to his feet. He began to unbutton the shirt he had dressed Frodo in the previous morning, and Frodo slapped his hands away.   
  
"I c - can do it," he said through his chattering teeth. He backed away a few steps and turned his back to Bramblethorn, removing the wet shirt. Bramblethorn stood waiting, and Frodo turned and looked over his shoulder at him.   
  
"You're completely soaked, Frodo. The breeches will have to go as well," Bramblethorn said with a wink.   
  
"No. N - not unless you l - leave the room," Frodo stuttered obstinately.   
  
Bramblethorn laughed, and tossed the robe to Frodo. "You're really something, Frodo. Do you want to get warm, or not?" he challenged.   
  
Frodo sighed, put on the robe, and carefully peeled his breeches off afterward, managing to remain concealed from Bramblethorn's view. "T - there. Are you s - satisfied?"   
  
"Satisfied? Not even close, my dear," Bramblethorn said without missing a beat. "You're still very cold, aren't you, Frodo?" Frodo didn't answer, but Bramblethorn could see him trembling from the chill. "Come along, love. You may sit by the fire in my study until you are warm again."   
  
Bramblethorn took Frodo's arm and led him toward the door. Frodo clasped the robe shut tightly and stepped past Monto red - faced as they left the room.   
  
"Monto," Bramblethorn called back over his shoulder, "Hang up Frodo's clothes to dry, won't you?" They went into the study, where Anson was hovering about.   
  
"Anson, will you light a fire for us, please? The storm has brought a chill with it, it seems." Anson nodded and set about getting a fire crackling upon the hearth. Bramblethorn shooed him away and settled Frodo in a comfortable chair before the fire.   
  
"Really, Frodo, I'm beginning to think that you and Monto don't like each other very much," Bramblethorn said in an amused tone.   
  
"Whatever gave you that idea?" Frodo shot back sarcastically, leaning closer to the comforting flames and reaching his hands out to warm them.   
  
"Oh, he's not so bad once you get to know him," Bramblethorn responded, eyeing Frodo and wishing the robe weren't quite so large. Perhaps, if Frodo moved closer to the fire it would ride up just a little -   
  
"He's horrid," Frodo said sullenly, tugging at the robe as if he'd read Bramblethorn's thoughts.   
  
Another laugh, as Bramblethorn leaned back in his chair and kicked his feet up on the hearth to warm them. "Worse even than myself?"  
  
"At the moment, yes," Frodo replied truthfully. "At other times, no."  
  
"Now, be fair, Frodo," Bramblethorn countered easily. "I've just passed up a very good opportunity to take advantage of you, in case you haven't noticed." Bramblethorn reached out and fingered the fabric of the robe. "All that stands between you and my hands is this one bit of fabric."   
  
Frodo shifted uncomfortably and pulled the robe tighter around his body. He didn't answer immediately.   
  
"Still cold?" Bramblethorn called Anson over. "Pour us a couple of brandies, won't you, old boy?" Bramblethorn addressed Frodo again. "Brandy is fine for warming oneself, but I know of ways finer yet."  
  
"You never stop, do you?" Frodo said, staring into the flames.   
  
"How can I, with you sitting there before me in the firelight," Bramblethorn answered, enjoying the view as well as he was able with the robe getting in the way. He took the two glasses of brandy from Anson and handed one to Frodo. "Cheers."  
  
Frodo swirled the liquid in the glass and gazed at it thoughtfully. "Trying to get me tipsy, then?"  
  
"If all it takes is one brandy to accomplish that, I shall consider myself very fortunate," Bramblethorn answered. "Your wit is as sharp as ever, dearest."   
  
Frodo sipped the brandy in silence and felt the warmth of it spreading through him. He listened to the sound of the fire crackling on the hearth and the raindrops hitting the windows, and thought he might be quite comfortable if not for Bramblethorn sitting there looking at him.   
  
"Hmmm, this is pleasant, isn't it?" Bramblethorn asked him. "Much better than lying bound in your room, and all you had to do was co - operate."   
  
Frodo masked a derisive snort by sipping his brandy again.   
  
"You don't want to go back to your room, do you, Frodo?" Bramblethorn watched him and waited for an answer.   
  
"No," Frodo said quietly. "It's cold."  
  
Bramblethorn handed Anson his empty brandy glass and reached for Frodo's. "I will allow you to sleep by the fire tonight, on the condition that you allow me to bind your hands and ankles."  
  
Frodo gave Bramblethorn a dismayed look. "Must you always - "  
  
"The last time I let you out of your room unbound for a length of time, you repaid my kindness by attempting to escape," Bramblethorn reminded him. "Now, I am giving you a choice. Your cold room, a locked door and no bonds, or a comfortable place by a warm fire, and restraints. Which will it be, Frodo?"   
  
A shiver ran through Frodo at the mention of the little, cheerless room. He'd sat drenched in the cool air for an hour at least, and the chill was just now leaving his bones. He looked at the fire, then back at Bramblethorn. "Will I be safe here, in this room?"  
  
"I promise no harm shall come to you here. I merely wish to be certain that I shall find you where I last left you." Bramblethorn stood and pulled a quilt out of a chest in the corner. Anson handed him a couple pieces of rope, and Bramblethorn gently took Frodo's hands and bound them, then tied his feet and draped the quilt over him.   
  
"You may yet earn back the privileges you lost with your behavior the other day," Bramblethorn informed Frodo as he tucked the quilt around him. "If only you would stop being so stubborn, I would deny you nothing."  
  
Nothing but my freedom, Frodo thought sadly. He was already drifting off to sleep, lulled by the warmth of the fire and the brandy.   
  
"You shall be mine yet, beloved," Bramblethorn whispered very quietly, and lit his pipe. He sat in his own chair and just watched Frodo as he slept, eventually dropping off to sleep himself.   
  
~*~ To be continued ~*~ 


	13. Storms

Sam - Very soon Sam and Merry will realize that their plea for assistance has not been received.   
  
Peony - Sam is suffering terribly, mainly due to blaming himself for the events. There's nothing worse for him than feeling so helpless. Bramblethorn is clever, but is he clever enough to get Frodo to accept him?  
  
Endymion2 - Four days can seem like a lifetime under such circumstances. The calm before the storm, eh? Have you been hacking my files? LOL! This chapter is called "Storms."  
  
Aratlithiel1 - Those nasty hobbits are about to get a bit nastier, especially Bramblethorn.  
  
Stephanie - I'll keep those quick updates coming, I promise. Sam and Merry will indeed act soon.  
  
Elbereth - Sam hasn't collapsed entirely, but he is definitely in a grieved and disturbed state right now.  
  
Spootasia Tomoe - Frodo would like to kick Bramblethorn someplace more sensitive than the shins, believe me! We writers do put him through a lot, don't we?   
  
GamgeeFest - Bramblethorn can be kind at times, but beneath it is always the controlling, manipulative side. The folk back in Buckland expected that Merry and Sam's errand might take a while, so they're not quite worried yet. If they only knew! Bramby's quite the dreamer, isn't he?  
  
Hobbitfeet13 - I do wonder what Gandalf would do to Bramblethorn if he got his hands on him? Set his breeches on fire, more than likely!   
  
FrodoBaggins87 - Frodo is never going to lose his defiance, but he has to be careful. In his present situation, any overt defiance will be met with punishment, and Bramblethorn's punishments tend to be rather harsh. Unfortunately, there's no Taekwondo in Middle Earth. Frodo will show his strength, I promise, but right now he's trying to avoid physical injury.  
  
FrodoBaggins1982 - I promise I won't let Frodo be portrayed as weak. He will be portrayed has having genuine emotion, but he will never lose his will to survive anything that comes his way. Frodo and Bramblethorn converse more in this chapter, and the interaction will be much more tense at times.  
  
Anarie - Yes, Bramblethorn is sick. What will Bramblethorn do in the morning indeed...or after, for that matter? Stay tuned!  
  
Iorhael - It will be a few chapters yet before you'll see what happens when Merry and Sam come for Frodo!   
  
Trust No One - Is Frodo getting comfortable? I'm not sure I'd say he is, but he's doing his best to keep from getting hurt. He will put up with a certain amount from Bramblethorn if it saves him from further abuse.   
  
Girlofring - It is nasty of Bramblethorn to try to bribe Frodo with comforts, but that's his game. Frodo can either accept him and be given every possible comfort except his freedom, or he can be treated quite harshly.   
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Author's note - This was a rather tough chapter to write. I wanted this story to be realistic, which means asking what the characters were most likely to do no matter how harsh or how wrong.   
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
Chapter 12 - Storms  
  
The storm had subsided by the coming of dawn, and fingers of sunlight pointed through the windows to touch two hobbits, asleep in chairs by a now cold and extinguished fire. Frodo woke with a shudder and a cough. He reflexively raised one hand to rub at his eyes and was momentarily taken aback when the other came along with it.   
  
Oh, yes. Of course. He had forgotten that his hands were bound. He shivered again. The quilt Bramblethorn had draped over him the night before had shifted from his shoulders, and the robe had slid away to expose one of them. He coughed once more and tried to pull the blanket over himself again, with little success. His hands were cold and the fabric kept slipping through his fingers.   
  
It might have been the sound of Frodo coughing or the sunlight, or perhaps a combination of both that woke Bramblethorn from his slumber. He yawned and stretched, and regarded Frodo thoughtfully.   
  
"Be still, Frodo, dear," he counseled as he rose and moved to Frodo's side. "It grieves me to deny myself the sight of any part of you, but I can see that you're still in need of this." He straightened the quilt over Frodo's shoulders and tucked it up under his chin. "How fare you this fine morning?"  
  
Frodo coughed again. "I'm cold," he said quietly. "Still so cold."  
  
"The fire is out, love." Bramblethorn looked around for Anson or Monto, and seeing neither of them, began to re - kindle the fire himself. "A storm in the night leaves behind a chill in the morn," he remarked as he got a pile of kindling sparking and flaming encouragingly. He added a couple of logs and pumped air into the kindling with a small hand - held bellows hanging from a peg on a wall nearby.   
  
"Ahh. Much better, I believe." The warmth of the fire began to chase the chill from the room. Bramblethorn frowned as Frodo coughed again, a thin, raspy sound. "Are you not well, Frodo?"  
  
"I've felt better," Frodo said, accusation in his gaze. "The water - "  
  
"Yes, that." Bramblethorn sighed. "It seems you may be suffering the ill affects of your encounter with Monto yesterday," he admitted. "Sitting in that room for an hour with cold water dripping off you hasn't done you any good, I fear."   
  
"It's your doing, as you let him near me. Where were you?" Frodo regretted the words as soon as he spoke them.   
  
Bramblethorn struggled to hide his elation. Frodo had all but admitted to having desired his presence! "I'm sorry, love. I was here, in my study. I merely asked Monto to see to the linens, not to douse you and let you catch a chill. Rest now, while I get you something to ease your condition."   
  
Bramblethorn rose and left the room, looking for Monto or Anson. He had dismissed Monto from his guard duty the night before, due to the fact that Frodo would be under supervision in the study. Anson was likely seeing to the grounds, checking for any damage done by the storm winds the previous night.   
  
In a few moments, Bramblethorn had started a fire at the kitchen hearth and had a teakettle heating over the flames. He located a few items that would serve as an early breakfast and returned to the study with a tray in his hands.   
  
"I've some tea for you Frodo, to take away the chill - "  
  
"No!" Frodo spoke sharply between coughs. "I don't want any more. You're using it to muddle me - "  
  
"Calm yourself, my dear," Bramblethorn soothed. "There are no sedatives in this batch, just common herbs to be found in any hobbit's cupboard. Its purpose is to warm you, nothing more."   
  
Frodo bit back any further response and forced himself to ask, "Will you please unbind my hands?"   
  
Bramblethorn considered. "I see no harm in it, since I am here with you." He stood and pulled the quilt aside to reveal Frodo's wrists and began to loosen the knots in the rope. The knots gave way and Frodo rubbed his wrists gladly. Bramblethorn handed him the teacup.   
  
"Now that the storm has passed, the day should be warmer. If you wish to retire to your room and rest, it should be more comfortable by now." Bramblethorn sipped his tea and waited for Frodo to respond.  
  
"I want my clothes," Frodo remarked in a firm tone. "Are they dry yet?"  
  
"They should be, or nearly so," Bramblethorn conceded. "My, but you're a bit moody this morning, love."   
  
Frodo fought to keep from hurling the teacup at Bramblethorn. "Call it what you will. Moody, indignant, impatient, frustrated, angry. Have I missed anything?"  
  
"Perhaps I should have brought the other tea," Bramblethorn teased. "It is too early in the morning for either of us to be arguing, love."   
  
"Can you really expect me not to argue?" Frodo gave Bramblethorn a disgusted look. "You've kept me from Merry and Sam for days now, and Eru knows what they're going through - "  
  
"Please do not mention them in my presence, Frodo," Bramblethorn said in a cold tone. "They are informed as to your state of being, and that is enough. You shall see them when I have full payment, and not before."  
  
Frodo opened his mouth to protest, but his words were lost in a series of raspy coughs. Bramblethorn frowned and laid his hand on Frodo's forehead. "You've a bit of a fever, Frodo," he remarked. "After breakfast, you must lie down and rest."  
  
Frodo protested no further. He was hungry, and the idea of sleeping and merely being left alone for a while didn't sound like a bad thing to him.   
  
Anson entered the room as Bramblethorn placed the food on a small table by Frodo's chair. "Mornin' boss," he said, rubbing his hands to warm them. "That storm took a few branches down nearby, but nothin' serious. Got 'em all cleaned up."  
  
"Good fellow," Bramblethorn praised. "Would you check on Frodo's clothes? They should be dry by now. Please have them in his room when we've finished breakfast."   
  
Anson nodded and walked out. Frodo continued to eat in silence, looking forward to sleep and even to the solitude of his room. His head was pounding and his chest felt tight. When he had finished eating, he said, "May I go to my room now?"  
  
"Of course, Frodo," Bramblethorn answered. He untied Frodo's ankles and helped Frodo to stand up, catching him as he faltered. "Be careful now, let's not have you falling," Bramblethorn said as he guided Frodo from the room.  
  
Frodo felt rather lightheaded. A memory came unbidden to his mind of a slippery floor at Bag End where some water had been spilled, hands steadying him and a voice saying, 'Be careful, Mr. Frodo. I can't have you fallin', now." He shook his head in confusion and realized that he felt very tired. He must be ill indeed if something Bramblethorn said to him reminded him of Sam.  
  
They made their way down the hall and Bramblethorn opened the door to Frodo's room. It was a little warmer than it had been, but not by much. Frodo was still clutching the quilt tightly around his body as he approached the bed. His clothes had been laid out neatly upon it and were now completely dry.   
  
Frodo ignored them for the moment. Quilt and all, he tumbled down onto the bed and curled up on his side, coughing.   
  
Bramblethorn moved to the doorway and called to Anson. "As averse as he is to the idea, I believe Frodo would benefit from a cup of tea," he said. He returned to the bedside and informed Frodo, "I've sent Anson for a cup of tea for you."  
  
Frodo glared petulantly. "I don't want it, I tell you!"  
  
"Well, my dear, you shall have it nonetheless," Bramblethorn stated firmly, "either by your own hand or with assistance."   
  
Frodo sat up as Anson entered the room with the cup. He looked from one hobbit to the other and said angrily, "No! I'll not let you drug me again!"  
  
"Be reasonable, Frodo," Bramblethorn said as he approached. "You're ill, and not at all in a position to refuse."   
  
"I do refuse," Frodo said obstinately.   
  
"Very well," Bramblethorn replied, turning to take the cup from Anson. "Hold him."  
  
Anson obeyed, instantly reaching out to grab Frodo.  
  
Whether in panic or in pure fury, Frodo released his hold on the quilt and struck out at Anson. The robe was his only cover now, and he had thankfully made certain to secure it to keep it from flapping open. Anson grappled with Frodo, who was showing an impressive amount of strength given his condition.   
  
Bramblethorn set the teacup down on the table and strode forward to strike Frodo sharply. "Stop it!" he growled. "You will do as I say!" Frodo still twisted in Anson's grasp, and Bramblethorn struck him again, harder this time. The blow stunned him somewhat and that single moment was all his captors needed. Frodo had no choice but to swallow as the brew ran down his throat.  
  
Anson released Frodo with a shove toward the bed, and Bramblethorn guided him to it firmly. "Now lie down and rest, dear, and don't be cross." He combed his fingers through Frodo's hair as he spoke.  
  
"Just leave me alone," Frodo said, shoving Bramblethorn away.  
  
Leave him alone. Bramblethorn considered the request. Frodo was still not willing to accept Bramblethorn as companion and caretaker. Perhaps if Frodo were alone for a while, he might grow to miss the presence of another. "Very well, Frodo, I shall leave you alone. I shall not come to you unless you call for me."  
  
"I shall not," Frodo said obstinately. Frodo found the idea of calling for Bramblethorn completely repulsive.   
  
"Sleep, my dear. If you should change your mind, I shall not be far away." Bramblethorn left the room and locked it. He handed the key to Anson. "You'll be keeping the watch today," he instructed. "If Frodo calls out, do not enter the room. Only if he calls my name shall the door be opened." Anson nodded and pocketed the key.   
  
Inside the room, Frodo slowly sat up, rubbing at his aching temples. He squirmed out of the robe that had concealed him from Bramblethorn's lustful gaze. He stood, fighting his dizziness and carefully donned his own breeches again. He reached for the shirt, but stopped, thinking he would be more comfortable without it while under the covers.   
  
Frodo burrowed deep into the blankets and closed his eyes, willing himself to relax, to sleep. The sedative made his limbs feel heavy and his thoughts wander. Eventually he slumbered, tossing and turning despite the effects of the drug as his fever strengthened. The day wore on and the night came, unnoticed by the single occupant of the windowless room.   
  
~*~  
  
"Are you asleep, Sam?" Merry's voice carried softly through the darkness. He and Sam had retired early, hoping a little rest would ease their minds.   
  
"No, Mr. Merry," Sam said truthfully. He was so very tired, but the images he saw every time he closed his eyes kept him from sleep. Each time his heavy eyelids fell and sleep crept near visions of Frodo appeared and brought him back to painful, helpless consciousness.   
  
"I can't sleep either," Merry confessed. "My father must have received my message by now, and help should be on the way. We'll get Frodo back, Sam," he said resolutely. "Very soon, I'm sure of it."  
  
"I hope so, Mr. Merry," Sam replied wearily. "I'm so afraid for him, I don't think I can bear it much longer."   
  
"If only Bramblethorn would allow us to see him," Merry lamented. "Just to know that he's all right," Merry trailed off, not wanting to speculate on what was happening at Bramblethorn's lair.   
  
"Do you think Mr. Frodo knows how much he means to us, Mr. Merry?" Sam's tone was sad and his heart heavy with self - reproach.   
  
"I'm sure he does, Sam," Merry attempted to soothe the gardener. "I'm sure that thought is sustaining him as we speak."   
  
"If he's angry with me, I don't blame him," Sam said sullenly. "I don't care if he told me to go, I left him an' I don't feel right about it noways."   
  
"I don't think he's angry with you," Merry said thoughtfully. "I think he will be more glad to see you than anyone else when he's released. You've always been so good to him, Sam." Merry had always been pleased that Sam was there for Frodo, that Frodo had someone so kind and generous to look after him.   
  
"He'll be glad to see you too, Mr. Merry," Sam mumbled. Exhaustion was beginning to prevail, and sleep, with whatever dreams it saw fit to bring, was not far off.   
  
Conversation, as if it were simply too much trouble to carry on, ceased for the time being as the two weary hobbits fell into an uneasy slumber.   
  
Sam and Merry slept for a time, but woke at alternate intervals, when disturbing thoughts or bad dreams intruded upon their rest. Finally, Merry gave up and sat upright, rubbing his eyes. "Sam, I know I need rest, but I just can't sleep. Let's go to the common room for a while. Maybe an ale or two will do the trick."  
  
Sam rolled over and replied affirmatively. He had been awake for some while already as it was. "Maybe there will be some news from Buckland," he suggested. The two hobbits rose and dressed, then made their way to the common room.  
  
~*~  
  
Frodo tossed fitfully in his sleep. His furrowed brow was slicked with perspiration as he alternately kicked the covers off then reached for them a few moments later as a chill ran through him. He woke, feeling as though he had not had anything to drink in days. His parched throat clamored at him for water, and his gaze roved around the room, settling on the ewer at the washstand.   
  
He sat up with difficulty, and willed the room to stop spinning just long enough for him to reach the washstand. He lowered his feet to the floor and stood unsteadily, then took careful steps across the room to the corner where the washstand stood. He grasped the ewer shakily, and tipped it upside down, catching the few drops that were left in it on his tongue. It had not been re - filled since Monto had poured it over Frodo's head earlier.   
  
There was no other source of water in the room. Frodo squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth in determination. No, Frodo thought grimly. He would not call out to Bramblethorn, no matter how desperate his thirst. Perhaps if he rapped on the door, Anson would open it and inquire as to his condition.   
  
Frodo leaned against the solid wood and rapped his knuckles on it several times. Silence followed. He tried again, and rasped out, "Hello? Is anyone there?"  
  
Outside in the hallway, Anson ignored the sounds. Bramblethorn had instructed him not to answer. Frodo's call would only be heeded if he called out for Bramblethorn himself, no one else.   
  
"Someone, please," Frodo pleaded. "I'm so thirsty." He thumped on the door again. Nothing. A feeling of desperation began to grow in him and he called louder. "Please, I need water! Someone, please!"   
  
Frodo gave up calling and pounding on the door. He could not, would not call for Bramblethorn! He mustn't, no matter how great his discomfort. He stumbled back to the bed and collapsed upon it again in misery.  
  
Bramblethorn wandered down the hallway and paused to inquire of Anson. "Any requests from our guest?"   
  
Anson nodded. "He pounded on the door and begged for water a little while ago."  
  
"But he did not call for me?" Bramblethorn pressed.   
  
"No, sir. Just for someone to bring him water."   
  
Bramblethorn shook his head. "Stubborn hobbit. He will call for me, whether he plans to or not. Let me know if he comes to his senses."  
  
Anson nodded again, and Bramblethorn padded down the hall to his study. He sat down at his writing desk and poured himself a brandy. He tossed it back and poured another, seething with frustration. Frodo's stubbornness was beyond any he had ever encountered. Couldn't Frodo see that Bramblethorn was trying? "I've shown him kindness," he muttered, "and still he pushes me away!" Bramblethorn remained in his study for a long while, attempting to let the brandy soothe away his anger.  
  
~*~  
  
Frodo dreamed. He saw Sam, standing across the room and began to reach out, his hand shaking. "Sam," he gasped. "Come closer, Sam, I can't reach you!"   
  
The figure across the room remained still for a moment, and then began to back away. "No, Sam! Don't go!" Frodo cried out, stretching his arms out in desperation. "Don't leave me, Sam! SAM!"   
  
With a painful thud, Frodo fell out of the bed and onto the hard floor. The room reeled and spun around him as he tried to get his bearings. He fought to untangle himself from the sheets, thrashing and calling out in desperation. Why had Sam ignored him? Why had he backed away? "Sam - " Frodo called out weakly again as tears prickled behind his eyelids.  
  
~*~  
  
Bramblethorn blinked, jolted out of his reverie by Frodo's call, and a frown came to his face. Frodo was calling out for that dratted gardener! The sound of the name grated on him, and Bramblethorn rose from his chair abruptly. "I shall teach you to call for him," he growled to himself as he made his way down the hallway, rather unsteadily as a result of the brandy.  
  
He stopped outside Frodo's door and listened. There it was again, the plaintive, delirious call for that foolish servant. Bramblethorn took the key from Anson's hand and as he prepared to turn it in the lock he paused. "Do not disturb us."   
  
Bramblethorn entered the room and he experienced a moment of unease as he saw the mussed and empty bed. A moment later, he noticed Frodo lying on the floor, tangled in the bed sheets, his eyes closed and his brow knitted in a frown as if he were in the grip of some nightmare.   
  
Bramblethorn felt his anger waning as fascination and desire rose to take its place. Warmed and emboldened by the brandy, Bramblethorn knelt by Frodo's side and spoke. "Frodo, you tax my patience and wound my heart." He reached out and laid his palm against Frodo's fever - warmed face.   
  
"Wha - what happened?" Frodo said weakly, his words a touch slurred as if it were he who had been working his way to the bottom of a brandy bottle.   
  
"You must have fallen." Bramblethorn made as if to lift Frodo from the floor, but at the last moment swept him into an embrace. "What do I have to do, Frodo?" he said in exasperation. "What must I do to gain your favor? What has that foolish gardener that I have not?" Bramblethorn was drunk and emotional, his voice rising just a little louder with each question.  
  
Frodo tried to push Bramblethorn away. "Sam genuinely cares for me," Frodo muttered thickly. "He would never hurt me. He's not like you."   
  
Bramblethorn hated the sound of Frodo speaking that name, and anger flared and flashed in his eyes. "Mention him not to me!" He shook Frodo as he spoke. "I forbid you to speak his name!"   
  
Frodo gasped as Bramblethorn's fingers dug into his upper arms. "You have no right to forbid it," he cried, twisting in Bramblethorn's grasp. "You have no right to me, or to my heart!"  
  
Bramblethorn pinned Frodo against the floor and gazed down at him possessively. "We shall see what I have a right to, beloved," he growled.  
  
~*~ To be continued ~*~ 


	14. Flight to Buckland

GamgeeFest - It won't really matter if Bramblethorn throws away the work of the previous days, since it really wasn't working as well as he thought. You might hate this chapter, it's possible. It's one of the least pleasant. Merry and Sam will have an encounter in the common room that will spur them to action.  
  
Heartofahobbit - Frodo is in real trouble, I'm afraid. He's sick and sedated, and no match for Bramblethorn because of it.  
  
Spootasia Tomoe - Didn't think Bramblethorn could get worse? Well here he is, and he's definitely at his worst!  
  
CuriousCat - You're right that Frodo would not willingly submit. Will Bramblethorn lose all patience and take what he wants? Read on! You'll get to see the impact Bramblethorn's actions have on his own thoughts later in the story.  
  
Anarie - The answer to your question as to whether Bramblethorn will get what he wants is in this chapter.   
  
Sam - Action, indeed! There will be quite a bit of action in this chapter.  
  
Endymion2 - Merry and Sam's visit to the common room will not shorten the story by much. They will be spurred to action, but it's still going to take some time to get Frodo away from Bramblethorn. The storm outside may have subsided, but the one inside is about to strengthen!  
  
Trust No One - Bramblethorn has never been the patient sort, really. It's all been an act, more or less.   
  
Stephanie - The odds are definitely against Frodo right now, I have to say. If reading the last chapter made you squirm, writing this one did the same to me.  
  
Hobbitfeet13 - Frodo is definitely in for something unpleasant to say the least. Cliffhanger? Oh, yes!  
  
FrodoBaggins1982 - Frodo is at a double disadvantage with his fevered state and the sedative Bramblethorn used on him. He's in no condition to put up the resistance he usually does, but that won't keep him from trying. Sam and Merry will decide that something isn't right very soon.  
  
FrodoBaggins87 - Frodo is still showing his spirit, but he's in real trouble, I'm afraid.   
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Chapter 13 - Flight to Buckland  
  
"We shall see what I have a right to, beloved," Bramblethorn growled, and despite his illness and clouded senses, Frodo knew genuine fear. Bramblethorn's countenance had transformed again into the leering, lustful face Frodo had seen so many times in his nightmares.   
  
"Get your hands off me!" Frodo shouted, and tried to wriggle away. A hard slap across his face answered his efforts.   
  
"You shall not reject me again," Bramblethorn said angrily. "You have mocked me and teased me, accepted the kindnesses I have offered and shunned me in response! I will no longer be lenient with you!" He struck Frodo again, and Frodo felt his strength fading.   
  
"No, please," Frodo begged. "Not this, I can't bear it!"  
  
"Mine, mine at long last," Bramblethorn gloated, looking down at Frodo with an almost feral gleam in his eyes. He pulled Frodo close against him, the fingers of one hand buried in Frodo's hair, the other tracing a slow line down his bare back. Bramblethorn forced Frodo to look at him, then pressed his mouth to Frodo's in an urgent, violently claiming kiss.  
  
Frodo began to struggle again, making a desperate effort to free himself although his mind clamored at him that it was hopeless. Bramblethorn was holding him down again, pinning his wrists against the floor on either side of his head.   
  
"Don't fight me, Frodo," Bramblethorn whispered, his lips poised at Frodo's neck where a rapid pulse beat furiously. "It will be so much better if you don't."  
  
"Damn you!" Frodo cried, managing to free one hand and punch Bramblethorn solidly in the jaw. The blow caused Bramblethorn to topple over backwards and Frodo rolled away from him. Frodo regained his feet with difficulty and backed away.  
  
There was nowhere to run as Bramblethorn advanced again. "You will pay for that," he snarled as he grasped Frodo again and bore him to the floor, knocking the back of Frodo's head against the hard wood in the process.   
  
Stunned and unable to move, Frodo felt Bramblethorn straddle him. Bramblethorn removed his shirt as he taunted Frodo cruelly. "I hope every time that stupid gardener touches you, you see my face and feel my hands on you. Who knows? Maybe he'll never touch you again! He won't want you when I'm through. He'll find you tainted and repulsive!"   
  
Frodo was sobbing openly now as Bramblethorn's words struck him like a physical blow. "NO! Stop, oh please STOP!"  
  
"Oh, I'll stop, Frodo," Bramblethorn said, reaching for the fastenings of Frodo's breeches. "I'll stop when I've driven myself into your very soul!"   
  
Out in the hallway, Monto and Anson both hovered, exchanging knowing looks at the sounds that met their ears. There was absolutely no doubt as to what was happening in the room. The two bodyguards could hear taunts and threats amid desperate pleas and cries of pain. They edged away from the door, just far enough down the hallway to be out of hearing range of all but the loudest of the agonized sounds.   
  
After a while, Bramblethorn opened the door just enough to allow him to peer out and addressed his bodyguards. What they could see of his face was rather flushed and he was breathing heavily. "I don't think I'll have need of your services here this evening. Why don't you go to that inn and see what Brandybuck and the gardener are up to?"  
  
They nodded. It was obvious that the boss wanted a little privacy, and from the sound of things, Frodo wasn't going to be much of a problem that evening. "Gotcha boss," Monto said. "Let's go, Anse."  
  
Off they went laughing and thumping each other on the back. Bramblethorn closed the door. This time, there was no one else to hear the sounds that came from the room beyond it.   
  
~*~  
  
"Your pardon, sir," Merry said, getting the innkeeper's attention. "Have you any messages for us? Have any visitors inquired as to our whereabouts?"   
  
The innkeeper shook his head. "Sorry, little Master. I've not had any messages nor seen any of your folk come to ask after you."  
  
Merry flashed a worried glance at Sam. "Thank you, sir," he said to the innkeeper and pulled Sam into the common room with him. "I don't like this, Sam," he said urgently. "It's nigh on time we should have been contacted by post or seen some of our folk from Buckland come to help us."   
  
Sam thought hard for a moment. Enough time had passed for a message to have reached Buckland. The distance between Buckland and Bree could be traveled in a matter of about four days on foot, or faster if one had a strong pony and a supply of determination. By that reckoning, there should very well have been a message in the post confirming that assistance was en route, or perhaps even a messenger from Buckland carrying the much needed funds.   
  
"Mayhap the storm held them up a bit," Sam offered, referring to the wind and downpour of two nights previous.   
  
"I don't know, Sam, but I don't like it. Something's amiss here, I feel it." Merry's brow was furrowed as he thought. "I would have expected great haste from Brandy Hall once word had been received of Frodo's abduction."  
  
Sam was about to answer when a loud laugh broke into the conversation from nearby. "Whatsa matter, Brandybuck?" Monto called derisively. "Can't get anyone from home to come and save your sorry arse?"  
  
"You!" Sam exploded. "You better have Mr. Frodo with you, else you ain't got reason to be here!"   
  
"We don't have him with us," Anson sneered. "The boss is too busy with him to let him come out and play."   
  
Sam's face reddened and his hands clenched on the edge of the table so tightly the knuckles whitened. "What has he done to him?" Sam growled. "That filthy animal - "  
  
"Now we don't take kindly to you talkin' 'bout the boss that way," Monto put in, approaching the table. He grabbed Sam by the collar and hauled him to his feet. "I better hear you apologize right quick."  
  
"He's got nothing to apologize for," Merry growled. "Get out of here before you've got real trouble."  
  
"Oooh, I think we've just been threatened," Anson mocked as he grabbed Merry by the front of his weskit. "You want to know how your cousin is? He was screamin' for mercy when we left."  
  
"NO!" Sam shouted, pushed far beyond endurance. He lunged for Anson's throat, fully intending to choke the life out of him. Monto slammed a fist into Sam's midsection and he doubled over, coughing.   
  
That was more than enough for Merry. "If you've harmed him, I'll have your ugly head, and Bramblethorn's too!" Merry landed a solid punch in Anson's face, knocking him backward.   
  
Monto turned to see Anson steadying himself. The momentary distraction was all Sam needed. Recovering, he twisted out of Monto's grip. "I'll tear you to scraps!" Sam yelled and gave Monto his hardest punch to the jaw.   
  
The brawl was on, and the innkeeper was trying frantically to get through the ring of Breefolk, large and small, who had stepped back to view the action from a safe distance.   
  
"Not if you're scraps yourself," Monto shot back and shoved Sam hard enough to make him stumble and crash into a table.   
  
Merry gave a shout and attacked Monto with all his ferocity, and seemed to be gaining the upper hand for a moment. Merry had Monto backed up against a support pillar and had wrapped both hands around the burly hobbit's neck.  
  
"Mr. Merry, look out!" Sam shouted frantically as Anson approached Merry from behind, an earthenware tankard raised in his hand. Anson brought the tankard down, breaking it over Merry's head, and Merry slumped to the floor, unconscious.   
  
Freed from Merry's death grip on his throat, Monto turned and swung hard at Sam, catching him in the temple. Sam staggered and fell, still conscious but breathing hard and having difficulty rising.   
  
"The boss ain't gonna be too happy about this," Monto said nastily. "He might have to take it out on that pretty boy he's got back at his smial."   
  
"If he touches Mr. Frodo, I'll hunt him down and - " Sam never finished the threat. It was cut short by a hairy foot landing hard in his stomach. Monto and Anson slipped out the back door, laughing, before the innkeeper could get through the crowd.   
  
Sam dragged himself to where Merry lay unmoving, blood seeping into his hair from a nasty cut on his head. "Mr. Merry!" Sam called, shaking him lightly. "Mr. Merry, please wake up!"   
  
"He's had a blow to the head?" The innkeeper asked. Sam nodded. "Let's get him back to your room and clean up that cut. Damn troublemakers, bustin' up my inn!" The innkeeper lifted Merry's still form and began to carry him in the direction of the room he had rented to the hobbits.   
  
Once inside, the innkeeper lowered Merry onto one of the beds and began heating water in a kettle over the fire. Merry groaned and Sam hurried to his side.   
  
"Mr. Merry! Mr. Merry, are you all right?" Sam moved aside reluctantly to allow the innkeeper to dab at Merry's head with a damp cloth. What little experience he had with the big folk had been gained only in the past few days, and trust for them was far from automatic.  
  
"Did I just get run over by a wagonload of bricks?" Merry said with another groan.   
  
"No, but you sure made a mess of my common room," the innkeeper said grimly. "Hold still." He dabbed at Merry's head wound carefully. "Them two up and started somethin', didn't they?"   
  
"Yes, sir, I reckon they did," Sam said glumly. He didn't want to tell the innkeeper much more about the situation.   
  
"I seen them around here and there," the innkeeper commented idly. "They don't strike me as bein' very friendly sorts. What did you do to rile 'em up like that?"  
  
"It ain't really somethin' I can talk about, if you follow me," Sam said nervously. If he told the innkeeper about Frodo and the man spread the word, Bramblethorn might make good on his threat to harm his captive.   
  
"Secrets, eh?" The innkeeper placed the cloth on top of Merry's head and put Merry's hand atop it to hold it there. "Always seems like that's what makes for trouble hereabouts." He looked at Sam with a critical eye. "You all right then?"  
  
"I think so, sir, thank you kindly," Sam replied, more concerned about Merry's condition than his own.   
  
"Keep an eye on yer friend, there," he cautioned. "If he seems confused or shows any signs of distress, let me know and I'll go for a healer. In the meantime, stay out of trouble and don't break any more of my crockery with yer heads."  
  
The innkeeper stalked out, and Sam was left alone with Merry, who was holding the cloth to his head and grimacing. "Sam, we must find out if anyone is on the way from Brandy Hall," Merry muttered, his eyes drifting closed.  
  
"Wake up, Mr. Merry!" Sam shook him, and ignoring Merry's protests, pulled him to his feet. "You can't go to sleep right now, Mr. Merry. You have to stay awake until your head settles a bit." Sam held Merry up and made him walk a few steps across the room.   
  
"No time, Sam." Merry said, becoming agitated. "I have to go to Buckland immediately!"  
  
"Not with your head hurt like that," Sam said adamantly. "You got to wait out the night at least, until you're feelin' better."   
  
"NO!" Merry shouted and began to struggle against Sam's hold on him. As Sam fought to keep Merry from doing anything rash, Merry stomped down on his foot, hard. Sam gave a yelp and inadvertently let go of Merry, who made a mad dash through the door.   
  
"Mr. Merry, come back!" Sam shouted, trying to follow. Merry lurched out the back door of the inn and made for the stables at an unsteady run. Sam followed, his own gait faltering. He realized he had fared little better than Merry had in the brawl.   
  
Merry reached the stables and opened their ponies' pen. Using the wall of the pen for support and not minding the absence of a saddle, he climbed up onto the back of the sturdiest one they had brought and burst from the stable spurring it to its fastest pace. They rushed past Sam who waved at Merry to stop. Merry ignored him and rode into the darkness.  
  
Sam turned and fled for the inn. He burst into the room and gathered some food and a couple flasks of water, blankets and his and Merry's cloaks. He locked the door to the room and ran back toward the stables. There was an old saddle in the back of one of the wagons they had driven to Bree, and Sam hauled it into the stable. Within a few minutes, he had the pony saddled and laden, and he struck out in pursuit of Merry. Merry's pony was the faster of the two, but Sam thought he could at least keep close behind. If Merry were going to try to make it to Buckland, Sam would follow and make sure he did.  
  
"C'mon, boy, you got to run now. I'll let you rest later, as soon as we catch up with Mr. Merry," Sam promised the pony. He felt sorry for making it bear his weight at such a pace, but it couldn't be helped. Merry had managed a fair head start and Sam was determined to catch him before he got hurt worse than he already was.   
  
It didn't help that it was late at night and the road was so dark. Sam sought desperately for any sign of movement up ahead that might mean he was gaining on his quarry. Something caught his eye and he spurred the pony forward again.   
  
As he neared the place where he had thought he'd seen something move, Sam's heartbeat quickened. There was something lying in the road. Whatever it was, it was moving very little and Sam noted with a surge of fear that it was roughly hobbit - sized.   
  
"Mr. Merry!" Sam brought his pony to a halt and jumped off its back. He ran to where Merry lay and attempted to rouse him. "Mr. Merry! Answer me, please!"  
  
"Uhhhhh," Merry groaned. "Sam? What's going on? What happened?"  
  
"I don't know, Mr. Merry," Sam said worriedly. "You took off from the inn as if someone had set light to your breeches, an' you didn't even take nothin' with you."  
  
Merry sat up and rubbed at his head, remembering. "I remember riding as fast as my pony would carry me," he said slowly, "I must have become dizzy and fallen. Where's the pony, Sam?"   
  
Sam looked around. He could just make out the shape of a pony standing in the trees nearby, munching on the grass at its feet. "He's over there," Sam said, pointing. "Let's get you out of the road before somethin' goes right over the top of you." Sam helped Merry to his feet and guided him off the road. He helped Merry to sit down with his back against a large tree and coaxed the pony to him.   
  
When he had both of the ponies safely tethered, Sam unpacked the blankets and a few other supplies. "Now, Mr. Merry, meanin' no disrespect and all, I ain't havin' you tryin' to ride on in the dark in your condition. Let me tend to your head while you rest for a spell."  
  
Merry offered no protest. He had calmed down considerably, and now realized the rashness of his actions. They did need to get to Buckland as quickly as possible but preferably in one piece. "Thank you, Sam. I'm glad you came after me," Merry admitted, wincing as Sam dampened a cloth with water and dabbed it against the cut on Merry's head.  
  
"If I can't take proper care of Mr. Frodo, I'm at least not goin' to let anythin' happen to his family," Sam said by way of reply.   
  
"We can't help Frodo by just sitting in Bree," Merry answered gravely. "We must get to Buckland as soon as possible, even if it means that we travel day and night. I'll consent to rest for a while, but then we must be off again."  
  
"But Mr. Merry, is it such a good idea for us to go to Buckland?" Sam was apprehensive about leaving Bree while Frodo was still there and still in danger. "Maybe help is comin' but there's been a delay. We'll probably meet up with them on the road."  
  
"I hope we do, Sam," Merry answered. "But I've a terrible feeling that something has happened. I have a feeling my message never reached them, and that they've no knowledge of the dire circumstances we face."  
  
"Do you think them nasty fellows of Bramblethorn's had somethin' to do with it?" Sam thought of Monto and Anson and how he'd like to dump them straight into the Brandywine along with a few heavy rocks attached to them.   
  
"They've been hanging around the inn from time to time," Merry said thoughtfully. "They may have just been there to gather information on what we were up to, but it wouldn't have been out of the question for them to intercept the post before the innkeeper gave it to the runner."  
  
"An' if we waited for help, it would never have come, an' Mr. Frodo would be - " Sam's words caught in his throat. "I'll kill Bramblethorn with my own two hands, I swear it," Sam vowed grimly. "I let him off too easy the last time, an' Mr. Frodo's payin' for my mistake."   
  
"That is why we must make all possible haste to Buckland," Merry answered. He accepted the apple Sam handed him and munched on it gratefully. "Frodo needs us. I know I need not tell you how every moment that he spends in the hands of that villain weighs upon my heart and mind."  
  
Sam nodded. He knew he wasn't the only one who felt pain, fear and remorse. "How do you feel now, Mr. Merry?" Sam asked, wanting to determine whether Merry was fit to travel further that night.   
  
"Much better now, Sam," Merry said, although it wasn't as true as he wanted it to be. His head ached terribly and he still felt dizzy and disoriented. "Have a bite to eat, and we'll be on our way."  
  
Sam knew better than to argue, but he planned to watch Merry very carefully until they reached the doors of Brandy Hall. He shouldn't be riding through the night with an injury like that, and were the situation any less serious, Sam would never have been a party to it.   
  
Hold on, Mr. Frodo, please, Sam pleaded silently. I'm never, ever goin' to leave you again, not even for an instant. Not even if you tell me to. There was a time to keep one's place and a time to forget it entirely, Sam reasoned. His Gaffer had been correct about many things, but Sam figured he would have to differ with him regarding the definition of duty to one's master. There were times when duty required the impertinence of argument, and Sam vowed to know the difference in the future.   
  
The future. Sam knew he couldn't face a future without Frodo. He couldn't any more than a tree could face a future with out sunlight or water. When Merry rose unsteadily to his feet and demanded that they be on their way, Sam wordlessly gathered up their belongings and followed. His eyes never strayed from Merry, who sat slumped forward against the pony's neck for support even as he urged it forward as fast as it would go.  
  
~*~ Morning ~*~  
  
Bramblethorn yawned and stretched, waking from a pleasant dream to the even more pleasant reality of the warm body resting by his side. The candle still burned on the table nearby and in the dim light he could make out Frodo's lithe form beneath the sheets.   
  
The memory of the previous night brought a smile to his face as he reached out to run his fingers through Frodo's curls. It had been wonderful, he thought, each touch, every quickened heartbeat, and the sound of Frodo crying out, whether in anguish or pleasure, it mattered not.   
  
Long the night had been, but not nearly long enough as years' worth of lust and frustration surged swift and hard, and spent themselves in merciless release. That Frodo had been only semi - conscious as Bramblethorn had taken him had made little difference. What little resistance he had been able to offer had been easily cast aside, and the cries that were driven from him were satisfaction itself.   
  
Bramblethorn drew a finger down the length of Frodo's neck to his collarbone and felt a shiver run through him as Frodo shifted in his drug - induced sleep. A hunger rose again within him and he saw no reason not to heed its urgent call.  
  
"Wake up, love," Bramblethorn whispered in Frodo's ear. "I've nearly drowned in you, but still I thirst."   
  
Frodo's eyes opened slowly as consciousness returned, and with it, pain. It carved a path through him, burning and rending flesh and soul.   
  
"You were splendid, you know," Bramblethorn informed Frodo with a nasty leer. "All those years I've waited to hold you in my arms and hear you cry out. You didn't disappoint me. You're rather -" he searched for the appropriate word - "expressive."  
  
Frodo made no reply but silent tears, and he knew. He tried to block out the memory of what Bramblethorn had done to him, retreating within himself to hide from the terrible truth. Even so, he knew. Bramblethorn had claimed him repeatedly, and images of the assault flashed before his mind's eye.   
  
The beams across the ceiling, and the dull 'thud' as the back of his head struck the floorboards.  
  
"Mine, at long last..."  
  
Dust that had gathered under the bed, and the individual threads in the sheet that hung down near his eyes.   
  
"More, Frodo... say it...SAY IT!"  
  
The little dancing flame of the candle on the table and the writhing of the shadow it cast upon the wall.  
  
"Do you make that sound when you're with him? I wish he were here now. I would make him watch..."  
  
  
  
The memory of Bramblethorn's voice became the genuine article as Bramblethorn spoke softly into Frodo's ear. "I hope I haven't exhausted you entirely, love," Bramblethorn purred. "I slept little through the night as you are well aware, but I find I am quite awake." Bramblethorn pulled Frodo's battered body close to his once more.   
  
Frodo shuddered. If Bramblethorn assaulted him again, he was certain that he would go mad. "No," Frodo whispered. "Please don't... I can't."  
  
"Surely your illness has subsided somewhat," Bramblethorn said with a slight frown. Another thought occurred to him and he laughed. "Surely you can't expect me to believe that last night was your first time?"  
  
Frodo had reined in his emotions to the best of his ability, and his voice was quiet but cold as he responded. "Oh, but it was," he answered, his voice a mere whisper. "It was the first time I've been raped." He said the word with obvious difficulty.  
  
Frodo's words struck Bramblethorn almost physically, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, he was hard pressed to produce a confident reply. "I was angry with you last night for calling that gardener's name, but I forgive you now," he said, attempting to hide his discomfort and choosing to ignore Frodo's choice of words.  
  
Bramblethorn rose and tugged his breeches on. There was blood on the sheets and on the floor. That would have to be taken care of. Frodo was obviously in need of attention as well. "I'm going to prepare a nice bath for you, Frodo. Would you like that?"   
  
No answer.  
  
Bramblethorn stroked Frodo's cheek lightly, feeling a twinge of something that might have been remorse. Frodo had bruises on his face and on his arms where Bramblethorn had gripped him. He lay silent and unmoving. Bramblethorn knew he had hurt Frodo, but it need not have happened that way. If Frodo had just been reasonable and accepted him, acknowledged the kindness Bramblethorn had offered him, force would not have been necessary.   
  
"I'm sorry I hurt you, my dear," Bramblethorn said. "I told you not to fight me. I shall be more gentle in the future, I promise."  
  
In the future. Frodo heard the words, but he could not find it within himself to respond to them. He felt Bramblethorn kiss his forehead, and he heard the door open and close.   
  
Frodo willed himself to move, to ignore the pain and raise himself from the bed. He knew Bramblethorn would be back, and he had no intention of appearing as helpless and wounded as he felt. He slowly sat up, and grasping the bedpost for support, he put his feet on the floor and stood. The quilt was lying in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed where he had kicked it earlier, and he wrapped it around himself. His throat felt dry and scratchy, but he was no longer coughing.  
  
When Bramblethorn returned a short while later, he found Frodo on his feet, but leaning heavily against the bedpost. "Come along, now," Bramblethorn coaxed, placing a hand on Frodo's arm to guide him.   
  
Frodo flinched violently at the contact, nearly falling as he let go of the bedpost. Bramblethorn caught him and Frodo endured the added humiliation of accepting his attacker's aid as they crossed the room. Frodo limped down the hallway as Bramblethorn supported him, and they came to a room where a large tub sat with steam rising from it in small curling wisps.   
  
"Can you manage it yourself, or shall I help you?" Bramblethorn asked.  
  
"No, I don't want your help," Frodo said, a defiant sharpness returning to his voice despite how thoroughly broken he felt. He made no move to shed the quilt that hid his battered body from Bramblethorn's view. He knew it was absurd, given what had transpired in the night, but he demanded, "Turn around. I'll not have you staring at me, at the ruin you've made of me!"  
  
"Frodo, I - " Bramblethorn started to protest, but broke off as Frodo at last looked at him. Those eyes were haunted, accusing, damning. They burned with a strange combination of shame, fury and determination that made Bramblethorn feel somehow diminished, as though it were he who had suffered the greater defeat. "As you wish," he answered, turning his back.   
  
Frodo dropped the quilt in a pile on the floor, not at all surprised to see dark smears of blood upon it. He carefully lowered himself into the tub, letting out a hissing breath as the hot water flowed over him.   
  
Bramblethorn slowly turned around to see Frodo already scrubbing himself with a sponge. He was scrubbing hard, as if to wash away something that had worked its way into his skin and lingered stubbornly, as if to somehow rid himself of all memory, of all tactile sensation.   
  
Frodo could feel Bramblethorn's gaze upon him and he acknowledged it without looking up. "You don't have to stand guard. I can manage on my own, and I can't leave this room without your knowing."   
  
Why was he lingering, Bramblethorn wondered? He tried to tell himself that it was for the mere sight of Frodo, or even possibly an apprehensive feeling that Frodo might somehow harm himself. He turned slowly and stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. He would be there when Frodo emerged.   
  
Frodo kept scrubbing, not caring if he was passing the sponge over the same areas repeatedly. He willed his hands to stop shaking, but they responded by trembling even harder, and he dropped the sponge into the water. His chest heaved as he tried to hold back the sobs that demanded release. He resisted as well as he could for several seconds, but there was too much anguish within him to be contained any longer. His tears mixed with the bathwater as he rested his forehead against his bent knees and gave himself the right to grieve and to hurt.   
  
  
  
~*~ To be continued ~*~ 


	15. Choices

Author's note - I want to thank all of you who have chosen to continue reading the story after the last chapter. It's the darkest thing I've ever written and I wrestled with it a good deal. I know some readers have chosen not to continue with the story, and I respect their opinions and value them also.   
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
GamgeeFest - I didn't want to go into too much detail in the last chapter, just enough to make it clear what happened. I have to keep the story at an R rating for it to be on ff.net anyway, and it was hard enough to write without immense detail! Merry and Sam were so enraged and upset by what Monto hinted at that they bolted straight out the door to bring help. They decided that if help is on the way, they'll meet it on the road. If it isn't, they'll bring it themselves.  
  
Trust No One - Chilling is what I was going for, definitely. Frodo will rise above no matter what, he's that strong. Bramblethorn will come to know that he can never truly possess Frodo.  
  
Shelbyshire - I weighed the question of whether or not Bramblethorn should succeed, and heeded the advice of certain others who said it wouldn't be realistic of him to waste an opportunity again after failing before. Frodo will never be quite the same, but he is fortunate to have someone like Sam to help him heal inside.   
  
Spootasia Tomoe - I hoped Frodo's reaction would be realistic. I didn't want him to be completely shattered, but I wanted it to be plain to Bramblethorn that forcing Frodo might have been a big mistake on his part.   
  
Girlofring1 - I don't think I could have written graphic detail if I'd tried. It was hard enough writing what I did! Sam and Merry will bring help from home and will find some unexpected allies along the way.  
  
Iorhael - Scary indeed! Bramblethorn has no chance of winning Frodo to him now, at least not in the way he envisioned.  
  
Hobbitfeet13 - Bramblethorn's victory is hollow. Frodo's coldness and scorn illustrated that to him. Frodo didn't bother with putting his clothes on. He just wrapped up in the quilt as the fastest and easiest thing to do.  
  
FrodoBaggins1982 - I agree with you that it's unlikely this was Frodo's first intimate experience. It was certainly the first time he's been forced, though. Frodo still has his spirit, but he will definitely find the going a bit harder now.  
  
Aratlithiel1 - Sam and Merry are making haste. Frodo's scorn for Bramblethorn was meant to show that he did indeed have dignity and inner strength remaining.  
  
Anarie - That last chapter was about as dark as it could be and still meet the rating requirements for ff.net. I've read some I think are darker, but it was certainly the darkest thing I've written. Remember in the film when Gandalf tells Frodo to go to Bree and Frodo get's a look of apprehension? Maybe I've explained that to some degree, who knows. Frodo will carry on, and I promise, Bramblethorn will pay!  
  
Daonering - Bramby feels more for Frodo than he lets on, and he knows he's made a mistake.   
  
Endymion2 - I finally let Bramby succeed, and it was the hardest thing to do! But I've attempted to rob him of some of his victory, at least. The innkeeper's nosiness will come to play an important part later on. You can bet Bramblethorn will make use of the time that remains, one way or another.  
  
Stephanie - You have just survived the worst of this story. There is plenty of angst remaining, but the worst is over now, in my opinion. It wasn't Frodo's first intimate experience, thank heavens. Whether his relationship with Sam has progressed to one of a physical nature or whether it was a tweenage fling or two, Frodo knows what pleasure is and isn't.   
  
Aelfgifu - No Bramblebath, I'm afraid. Frodo simply couldn't have borne it. He needed a moment alone, and I made Bramby give him one. He owes him, he does!   
  
CuriousCat - I agree, the aftermath is the entire point, so graphic detail isn't necessary. Bramblethorn does feel more for Frodo than just lust, and he will wrestle with that very point.  
  
Heartofahobbit - Frodo would like to see Bramblethorn become a better hobbit. There will be a few moments of truth ahead in which Bramblethorn actually lowers his guard and speaks of his true feelings, and Frodo will speak honestly in return. Saradoc would hardly be able to keep his stubborn son from returning to Bree to help Frodo. Merry's injury is not extremely serious, just a hindrance for the moment.   
  
Peony - Thanks for your comments. I hoped that I could bring off a disturbing scene like that in a believable but not overwhelming way.   
  
Camellia Gamgee - Took - I think it was obvious what happened without me describing it in graphic detail. Poor Frodo needed some time alone to gather himself.   
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Chapter 14 - Choices  
  
The bathwater was cloudy and tepid by the time Frodo felt steady enough to get out of the tub. His breeches and the shirt Bramblethorn had provided for him were laid out on a bench nearby. Frodo realized he hadn't noticed that Bramblethorn had placed them there. Bramblethorn must have brought them with him when he prepared the bath.   
  
Frodo was immensely glad to see that there was no blood staining the towels as he dried himself. He was still in a good deal of pain, but perhaps he wasn't so seriously injured as he had originally thought. Of course, the seriousness of the damage Bramblethorn had done to him had to be judged not merely from a physical standpoint, but from an emotional standpoint as well.   
  
Frodo realized that he felt deeply ashamed of what had happened, as if he should have been able to prevent it. Logic whispered to him that he absolutely could not have kept the assault from happening and that blaming himself was absurd. He had never really responded favorably to any of Bramblethorn's advances, had he? The memory came to Frodo of Monto's attempt on him, and how he had clung to Bramblethorn. He grimaced. That had been purely a reflexive action, with no thought or desire behind it at all, but Frodo could easily imagine Bramblethorn twisting it into something else.   
  
Bramblethorn had been drunk and out of sorts, and not in a mood to listen to reason or to heed a plea for mercy. He obviously felt that Frodo owed him something. Was it because of Frodo's part in Bramblethorn's exile from the Shire, or simply the fact that Bramblethorn saw himself as having been generous in providing Frodo with basic necessities that he had denied him before?   
  
Frodo's thoughts kept returning to things he might have done differently, things that he had done days earlier. If only he had allowed Sam to accompany him to the privy at the inn! But no, that still might not have done any good. Sam could have been hurt as a result.   
  
Sam. How could he face Sam now? How could he look into those kind eyes and say, 'You were right'? What would Sam think of him? Bramblethorn's cruel taunting came back to Frodo as he considered. Would Sam find him repulsive and tainted as Bramblethorn had said? Would Sam ever be able to value him as he had in the past, whether as a friend or as something more?  
  
Suddenly Frodo felt ashamed for a completely different reason. What would Sam be feeling as a result of all this? Sam would be blaming himself for the entire series of events, starting with Frodo's abduction. He would find himself responsible for every wound, mental and physical, that Frodo bore. Frodo wasn't sure whose pain could truly be considered the greater, his for having borne such terrible things, or Sam's for believing he had allowed them.  
  
Frodo felt completely wrung out. He had been in the bath for the better part of an hour, until he had gathered himself enough to face the walk back to his room. The hot water had eased some of the aches from his body, and had lulled him into a state of weariness. Now fully dressed, Frodo took a deep breath and opened the door. Bramblethorn was still there waiting, leaning against the wall in the hallway.   
  
"Don't worry," Frodo said bitterly. "I'm still here."  
  
"So you are," Bramblethorn responded simply. "If you wish to return to your room you may, but I will be sending Monto in to tidy up in a while."  
  
"Thank you for the warning," Frodo muttered. When faced with the prospect of Monto's company or Bramblethorn's, Frodo found the choice impossible. Both options were less than ideal.  
  
The door to the room stood open, and the bed had already been stripped. The sheets lay in a pile in the small space between the bed and the table, waiting to be removed. Frodo didn't care that new sheets had not yet been brought in. He climbed up rather gingerly onto the bed and lay down on his stomach, his head pillowed on his arms.   
  
Bramblethorn stepped out and closed the door, locking it behind him. What could he expect? Of course Frodo didn't want his company now, not even for a moment. The memory of the previous night was still too fresh, the experience still too recent. Would Frodo ever consent to remain in his presence again, even to share a meal or sit by the fire? It was unlike Bramblethorn to admit to having erred, but he wondered what would have happened if he had not lost his patience. What if he had waited and continued to try to draw Frodo to him little by little?   
  
No, he decided. He had waited before and lost his chance because of it. To allow Frodo to deny him again would have been foolish on his part. Perhaps he had lost ground when it came to establishing a truce with Frodo, but at least he had managed to get him out of his breeches. The experience had been rather satisfying, despite having been the result of brute force.  
  
"Monto, dear fellow, are you nearly finished with Frodo's room? I'm afraid he's rather tired." Bramblethorn addressed the other hobbit as they passed in the hall. Monto's arms were full of clean sheets and blankets.   
  
Monto sighed. He was getting tired of looking after that spoiled pretty boy. Was the boss planning to keep him as a pet, for Eru's sake? "Almost," he answered, hiding his irritation with difficulty as Bramblethorn pressed the key into his hand. "Just gotta make the bed and get them soiled sheets outta there."  
  
"Very good. Frodo was lying down when I left him, so you may have to wake him." Bramblethorn gave Monto a stern look. "He's a bit the worse for wear, if you understand me, and I expect you to know better than to aggravate his condition."  
  
"I ain't gonna mess with him, I promise," Monto grumbled. He stumped off down the hall toward Frodo's room, muttering epithets as he went. He unlocked the door and went in, and sure enough, that damn hobbit was stretched across the unmade bed, asleep.  
  
Monto piled the fresh sheets on top of the trunk nearby. He reached out to give Frodo a shake, and said loudly, "Outta the way, pretty boy."  
  
Frodo woke with a violent start. Instinct and adrenaline ruled him as he lashed out, shouting. "NO! Get out!"  
  
Monto caught Frodo's flailing arm and dragged him to his feet. He slapped Frodo across the face, trying to subdue him. "Dammit, stop it! I'm not gonna - "  
  
Frodo didn't wait to hear any more. He'd had enough of Monto, enough of the cramped little room, enough of everything. He swung at Monto, his fist landing against the other hobbit's temple. Monto staggered backward in surprise. The boss had said the pretty boy wasn't feeling well, hadn't he? Well, he seemed to be doing fine in Monto's estimation.   
  
"That's it," Monto said, seething. "C'mere, you!" He grabbed Frodo and spun him around, slamming him against the edge of the table by the bed. The impact caused the lighted candle to fall over the edge and to roll just under the edge of the pile of soiled bed linens. Neither Frodo nor Monto noticed as they grappled with each other. Monto had Frodo by the front of his shirt and was preparing to punch him when he heard a 'poof' followed by a 'whoosh'. He gaped in alarm as the pile of sheets burst into flames.   
  
"Now see what you've done?" Monto shouted and shoved Frodo away, turning to try to stamp out the flames that were now growing larger. An instant later, a tongue of flame touched the mattress and the fire began to spread. Stomping it out was no longer an option.   
  
Frodo looked from where Monto was frantically trying to snuff the fire to the door that lay unlocked across the room. He edged toward it and was through it in an instant, making his way down the hall as quickly as his sore body would move. He had no thought beyond the moment, beyond escaping the room, the fire, and Monto. As he rounded a bend in the hallway, Bramblethorn appeared and grabbed him.  
  
"What the blazes is going on here?" Bramblethorn shouted back down the hallway.  
  
Frodo had never felt such despair in his life. Through his panic came the absurd and useless thought that it had been an interestingly apt choice of words Bramblethorn had used in his query.   
  
Bramblethorn dragged Frodo back down the hallway. Smoke was issuing from the door of his room along with Monto's curses.  
  
"Anson! Get a bucket and get busy! That idiot's burning down my home!" Bramblethorn turned his attention back to Frodo, who was struggling as hard as his injuries would allow. "Blast it, Frodo! I don't want to hurt you! Will you leave me no choice in the matter?"  
  
Frodo fought as though he had gone mad as Anson ran by with a full bucket of water. In a moment, he emerged again, hurrying back the way he had come. Bramblethorn had paid a hefty cost to install an indoor water pump, the only one in Breehill. It only took a few more minutes for Anson and Monto to extinguish the blaze, and they came out of the room coughing and waving their hands in front of their faces to drive the smoke away.   
  
Frodo was beginning to tire and within a few moments, Bramblethorn held him pinned against a wall. "I should have taken you again this morning," Bramblethorn lamented. "It seems you've still got some energy left."   
  
Monto and Anson strode toward their employer. "What is the meaning of this?" Bramblethorn growled. "I send you to complete a simple task and you nearly destroy my smial!"  
  
"It's not my fault," Monto grumbled, pointing at Frodo. "I went to wake him up so I could fix the bed and he attacked me!"  
  
Frodo tried to pull free of Bramblethorn's grip and failed. "I was asleep and he grabbed me!" Frodo cried fearfully. "I thought he was - " He stopped mid - sentence, thinking better of telling Bramblethorn what had gone through his mind in that panicked instant.   
  
Bramblethorn was perceptive enough to catch the tone of Frodo's voice and the look in his eyes. "You thought he was what, Frodo? Did you think I was back for more?" He reached out to touch Frodo's face and Frodo turned away, trembling at the thought of enduring those hands upon him again. "If only it had been me," Bramblethorn said in a mockingly light tone. "I enjoy a good go in the morning, don't you?"  
  
  
  
Bramblethorn stopped tormenting Frodo for the moment and turned to his bodyguards.  
  
"All right, so how did the fire start?" Bramblethorn asked Monto, demanding a full explanation. Never mind finger pointing and accusations, he wanted to know the origin of the trouble so he could prevent a similar situation in the future.  
  
"It was the candle, boss," Monto admitted. "I was tryin' to keep him under control and the candle fell off the table, right into that pile of sheets I was goin' to remove."  
  
"I see," Bramblethorn said, beginning to get the picture. He firmly guided a drained and despairing Frodo back down the hall toward his room as Monto and Anson followed. "How bad is it?"   
  
The question needed no answer as they reached the door and Bramblethorn looked in. Smoke had blackened parts of one wall and part of the ceiling. The mattress was damaged beyond repair and there was a large puddle of water standing on the floor in the vicinity of the table and bed. A pall of smoke still hung in the air and Bramblethorn waved his hand impatiently as he grimaced.   
  
"Well, we can't very well make use of this room in its present state," He remarked in disappointment. "That poses a bit of a problem, I believe." He addressed Frodo directly. "We now have to find new accommodations for you."  
  
Frodo said nothing. He was trying to get a grip on himself and restore at least some of his composure to face what else the day was to bring. It would do him no good at all to crumble further now.   
  
"How about the cellar, boss?" Monto suggested, giving Frodo a nasty look. "I've said all along that you should just put him down there."  
  
Bramblethorn gave Monto a warning look. "Clean this up, will you? I need to think about this." He grasped Frodo's arm in a tight grip and began pulling him down the hall toward the study. "We need to have a talk, Frodo," he said as they entered the room.   
  
"I - I don't want to talk," Frodo choked out. "Not to you."  
  
"Very well, I'll talk and you'll listen." Bramblethorn waved toward a chair. "Make yourself comfortable."  
  
Frodo looked at the chair, then back at Bramblethorn. "I'll stand, thank you," he said softly, not making eye contact with his tormentor.   
  
"Ahh, of course," Bramblethorn said, comprehending. "Let me come to the point, Frodo. Your room is damaged severely enough that I cannot in good conscience allow you to remain there."  
  
Since when had 'conscience' had anything to do with any of Bramblethorn's decisions?  
  
Frodo frowned at the floor, trying to find refuge in anger, indignation, anything that wouldn't amount to obvious vulnerability.   
  
"Except for the cellar, that was the only room in my home without a window. We both know that if you have access to a window, you will attempt to exit through it the moment my eyes are off you." Bramblethorn stopped pacing to and fro and gave Frodo a disapproving glance. "Just as you tried to use the fire as a convenient distraction. It might have worked if I were less attentive, but you wouldn't have made it very far."  
  
"Perhaps not," Frodo admitted, his gaze sad and his shoulders slumped, "but it would have been worth the effort."  
  
"Worth it or not, you did try to escape, and I will not allow such a thing to happen again." Bramblethorn considered the options. "Come with me, Frodo."  
  
"Where?" Frodo asked, backing away.   
  
"No questions, love. Obey or I will have Anson and Monto drag you." Bramblethorn took Frodo's arm again. He guided Frodo down an adjacent hallway and stopped before another door. The door swung open as Bramblethorn pushed on it, revealing a well - appointed bedroom with fine furnishings and a large four - poster bed with a thick mattress and a pile of soft pillows. "This is my own room, Frodo, and I will allow you to stay here, but you will be bound. The window, you know," Bramblethorn said by way of explanation.   
  
Frodo looked at Bramblethorn aghast as another thought occurred to him. "And just where will you sleep?" he asked slowly.  
  
"Right here, my dear," Bramblethorn confirmed. "Letting you out of my sight has proved to be ill - advised."  
  
Frodo felt panic returning as he attempted to free his arm from Bramblethorn's grasp. "No! Absolutely not! You cannot expect this of me after what you've done!" The idea of sharing a room with Bramblethorn was repulsive in and of itself, and the idea of doing so bound hand and foot was out of the question.   
  
"You prefer the alternative, then?" Bramblethorn's eyes narrowed. He had thought it would take longer for Frodo to reassert his stubbornness after all that had transpired in the last twenty - four hours.   
  
"And that would be what?" Frodo asked apprehensively.   
  
"The cellar. There are no windows." Bramblethorn looked at Frodo expectantly.  
  
Frodo forced himself to return Bramblethorn's gaze as steadily as he could. He took a deep breath and replied, "I would rather the cellar than to be bound and helpless within the reach of your hand." He stepped backward away from Bramblethorn, regardless of the hand that gripped his arm.   
  
Bramblethorn sighed. This was all part of starting over with Frodo as he surmised would be necessary. "You would choose to sleep on a cold, bare earthen floor in order to avoid my presence?"  
  
Frodo steeled himself, waiting for a violent reaction to his words. "I would."  
  
Bramblethorn didn't raise a hand to him, much to Frodo's surprise. He simply regarded Frodo coldly and said, "Very well, Frodo. I will grant your wish."  
  
Bramblethorn called down the hall to Monto and Anson. "Prepare the cellar, please."  
  
Monto smiled, making sure that Frodo saw him. "My pleasure, boss." He and Anson disappeared down the hallway and into a side corridor.   
  
"You still have time to change your mind, Frodo," Bramblethorn offered. "This is a very comfortable room, you know."  
  
Frodo gazed around the room once more. He remembered how cold his room had been on the night of the storm and his eyes came to rest upon the fireplace near the bed. As he felt fingers tickling at the curls that lay against the back of his neck, he gasped and blurted out in a rush, "I don't care if it's fit for the Valar! If you plan to take me unwilling again - for I shall be - you shall not do it with ease!"  
  
"You're so stubborn, love," Bramblethorn said with a shake of his head. "Perhaps a few days under ground will soften that heart which has hardened so against me."  
  
"No," Frodo responded. "Never." He flinched as Anson came up behind him and pulled his arms behind his back, binding his hands again. The next moment he was being half - dragged down the adjacent hallway and to a door at the very end. Monto opened the door to reveal a shadowy stairway leading down into the cellar. He lit a candle and led the way as Anson maneuvered Frodo down the stairs.   
  
"I think the boss should have put you here in the first place," Monto sneered.  
  
Frodo declined to answer as his gaze traveled the interior of the cellar. A small table had been placed in the corner and Monto set the candle on it. There was nothing nearby that would come close to being flammable, just rough earthen walls. A single blanket of scratchy homespun wool had been tossed into the opposite corner and it was there that Anson directed Frodo.   
  
"Sit down," Anson said shortly. Frodo opened his mouth to protest and Anson all but kicked his legs out from under him. Frodo gasped as he fell. Pain shot through him and he heard Monto laughing.  
  
"The boss really worked you over, didn't he?" Monto sneered as he bound Frodo's ankles together. "You were howlin' when we left, and I bet you kept it up all night." He leaned over Frodo and smirked. "I coulda made you holler, but the boss don't like to share."  
  
"Bastard!" Frodo was inordinately pleased that his voice didn't break and betray him. He welcomed the dark solitude the cellar would offer in contrast to the presence of naught but vicious enemies in the rooms above. The only response to his utterance was a sharp kick and more derisive laughter as Monto and Anson made their way back up the stairs and locked the door.  
  
~*~ To be continued ~*~ 


	16. Accommodations

Anarie - Frodo is down, but he isn't out. Sam and merry are on their way to Buckland to bring help just as fast as they can. Bramblethorn isn't through with Frodo yet. He knows he's made a mistake, but he still thinks he can win somehow. No matter what, Sam will still care for Frodo.   
  
GamgeeFest - You're right that Sam is suffering in his own right regarding the events so far. There is definitely plenty of angst to go around. Bramblethorn is completely deluded. He may not realize it, but in a way he's unraveling just as much if not more than Frodo is.  
  
Hobbitfeet13 - You are right that Bramblethorn was removing his own shirt as he was taunting Frodo. As to whose breeches were removed, you'd be right to assume Bramblethorn saw to Frodo's first. As to this story being gloomy and what keeps you coming back, I think it might be Frodo's spirit. Am I even close? Merry is a bit addled by his head injury, but will regain his sensibilities soon enough. Sam will be there to help him.   
  
QTPie - 2488 - I didn't think I would actually let Bramblethorn do that either, but as the story progressed I realized there just wasn't any way he would let the opportunity pass him by again. I even asked my beta and another reader what they thought and they said as much. Bramblethorn definitely has learned how to push Frodo's buttons.  
  
R. B. - Thanks for coming by. I'm glad the last chapter didn't scare you off. I wanted it to be dramatic, but I was more focused on the aftermath than the details of the events themselves.  
  
FrodoBaggins1982 - You're exactly right that Bramblethorn's threats no longer have quite the impact on Frodo that they did before. Especially at the moment, since Frodo is still rather numb from the experience. His mind is still in a defensive mode where the repeated threat of something that's already happened just sort of passes through him. That being said, thanks for the longest review I've ever had! You have some really good ideas. I confess, I haven't any plans for any conversations between Bramblethorn's bodyguards and Frodo, but there will be plenty of interaction between Frodo and Bramblethorn!  
  
Stephanie - Sorry I was so long with my update. I've been a little under the weather these past 2 days, but I'm on the mend. Monto will get his in the end. Whether he dies or not - well, you'll have to wait and see! I am working on a couple of other stories, mostly short fics. There might be something a little sweeter ahead after this one, just to provide a sigh of relief after all the angst!  
  
Shelbyshire - Funny you should ask about critters in the cellar. This chapter will answer your question. As to unexpected help, I have no elves, dwarves or wizards. No rangers either, but perhaps one or two who might have made good ones. You'll see!  
  
Endymion2 - Bramblethorn has some sort of feelings for Frodo, twisted as they may be. Definition for 'epithet' would be something to the effect of a curse. An 'epitaph' is what is written on a tombstone. Similar root to both words, I suppose, but different meanings.  
  
Spootasia Tomoe - Frodo is not giving in, but he will have a little while before help can reach him.  
  
Trust No One - Frodo is still keeping his defiance, but events in this chapter will chip away at it further.  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Chapter 15 - Accommodations  
  
Frodo had been sleeping again. He couldn't tell how long he had been asleep, but the rest had done him some good at least. He frowned, dimly trying to remember what had awakened him. Some small sound, a scratching or skittering across the room.  
  
Focusing his vision in the dim light, Frodo thought he saw something move. He saw a dark shadow against the wall and gasped when he saw the creature itself. A rat! It was large and mangy and was looking right at him. Its beady red eyes were fixed upon Frodo's, which were wide with fear and revulsion.   
  
'Put him in the cellar and let the rats have a nibble', Monto had said before. Frodo had thought Monto was just speaking figuratively, but the sight of the scruffy rodent scratching at the wall of the cellar made him realize he had not been.   
  
The rat was growing bolder and moved away from the wall, toward Frodo. "Ugh!" Frodo squirmed away from it as it advanced. When it got too close to Frodo's feet, he kicked at it, causing it to skitter away but only briefly. It chattered at him and began to close in on him again, perceiving him to be alive and warm - blooded.   
  
Frodo looked around wildly. Another set of beady little eyes looked back at him from the shadows, and another. One rat was bad enough, but there were more. Several rodents were making their way toward him now.   
  
"Get away!" Frodo cried as he rolled himself away from the nearest rat. He caught another one squarely with a sharp two - footed kick that jarred his entire body. The third was not so easily dispatched and it leapt forward to sink its teeth into his leg.   
  
"HELP!" Frodo screamed as he managed to dislodge the rat. No sooner had he rid himself of one, another bit sharply into his hand. Panic seized him. They would eat him alive! "Help me! Please!" He shouted as he writhed. A rat bit him again, and Frodo lost his composure completely. Before he could stop himself, he shouted, "Get me out of here, now! Bramblethorn! Bramblethorn!"   
  
Upstairs, Bramblethorn put his book and pipe down as his ears caught the sound. It was faint, but he could have sworn he heard Frodo calling out. Calling for him. Yes, there it was again, a thin, desperate shout. Bramblethorn rose from his chair and made his way to the cellar door.   
  
"Get them off me, please!" Frodo's voice rose in a terrified sob from beyond the door. "Bramblethorn!"  
  
"Blast! Where is that dratted key?" Bramblethorn muttered, searching his pockets. "Anson! Monto!" Footfalls sounded in the corridor as Bramblethorn's henchmen heeded his call. "Give me the key, now!" he demanded hurriedly.   
  
"Here it is, boss," Monto said, producing the key. Frodo screamed again, and Bramblethorn turned the key in the lock with haste. He wrenched the door open and bolted down the stairs.  
  
In the flickering light of the candle, Bramblethorn could see the dark shapes of several large rats as they attacked Frodo. It had been months since Bramblethorn had been in the cellar himself. If he wanted anything from it, he usually sent Monto or Anson to fetch it for him. Consequently, he had never seen any rats in the cellar with his own eyes. Obviously Monto had known they were there, Bramblethorn realized as he recalled an off - hand remark his bodyguard had made about the creatures.   
  
Growling, Bramblethorn kicked one of the noisome rodents hard enough to send it flying into the corner to bounce off the wall with an injured squeak. "Off, you vile creatures," he snarled as he gave the other two similar treatment.   
  
He knelt at Frodo's side and unbound his ankles. "I'm here now, love," Bramblethorn crooned as he hurriedly lifted Frodo to his feet. Frodo was nearly catatonic with terror as Bramblethorn hustled him up the stairs and into the study.   
  
"Oh, Frodo, love, I'm so sorry," Bramblethorn said as he dropped onto the sofa and pulled Frodo's trembling form in his arms. "I didn't know they were there. I never would have considered the cellar as an option if I had."   
  
Finally finding his voice, Frodo gasped, "I don't believe you. You knew," he accused. "You knew they were there and you let them attack me!"  
  
"No, Frodo, I swear to you, I knew nothing of their presence. I've not been in the cellar for some time, so I've never seen any rats about." Bramblethorn turned Frodo so that his bound hands were more visible, and examined the place where one of the rats had bitten him. Frodo tried to pull away, but Bramblethorn's grip on his arm was firm. The bite was deep and very painful. Frodo was bitten on his legs and feet as well. Blood dripped from several of the deeper wounds.   
  
"He knew, too," Frodo said, referring to Monto. "He's trying to kill me, isn't he?" Frodo was still shaking, his mind filled with the image of the rodents crawling over him, biting him and feasting on his blood.   
  
"He had damn well better not be," Bramblethorn snarled fiercely.   
  
Frodo was taken aback by Bramblethorn's response. Now that the immediate danger of being bitten to death was past, he realized that Bramblethorn had actually apologized to him. He seemed genuinely chagrined by the event, and truly angry with Monto. Frodo's mind whirled with confusion and sudden weariness as Bramblethorn stood and walked briskly from the room. He returned with a kettle of hot water, a bowl, a small round cake of soap, and a towel that was draped over his arm.   
  
"We must cleanse those bites immediately," Bramblethorn said as he poured water from the kettle into the bowl, pausing briefly in his preparations to unbind Frodo's hands. "I'm sorry, Frodo. This will sting, but it will keep the wounds from becoming infected." He took Frodo's hand in his and squeezed soapy water from the towel over the wound. Frodo winced, but allowed Bramblethorn to continue his ministrations. He was entirely too shell shocked to do otherwise.  
  
"Why did you help me?" Frodo asked at length. "There was a time when you wouldn't have. If I remember, you would have watched as they tore me to pieces."  
  
"You're far too dramatic, dear," Bramblethorn said as he bandaged Frodo's hand and began to work on a leg. "If you're referring to the incident at Bywater, I was rather harsh, I do admit." He paused from cleaning the wound and gave Frodo self - satisfied smirk. "Besides, you called for me, you know. Or have you already forgotten?"  
  
Frodo's heart sank at the reminder. He had called for Bramblethorn, hadn't he? He had called out the hated name in thoughtless fear and desperation as the rats came at him. How under the stars could he have done such a thing? Was it possible that Bramblethorn was finally to succeed in breaking him?  
  
"It's not - " Frodo stammered helplessly. "I didn't mean to - "  
  
Bramblethorn sighed, stung by the attempted denial. "When I bade you farewell two years ago, I thought I would never see you again," he said truthfully. "I told myself that I must consign your remarkable eyes and melodic voice to mere memory, for I would never again encounter them. For a while, I succeeded. I suppose I truly believed that I was over you." More soapy water, another bandage.   
  
"I was still attempting to convince myself of that when you magically appeared here in Bree, no less a vision of loveliness than you had ever been." Bramblethorn seemed to hesitate, unaccustomed to this sort of honesty from himself. "I have been trying my best to show you that I can be kind to you. It has hurt me more deeply than I can say to have you look at me with hatred and fear."  
  
"How can I do otherwise?" Frodo asked quietly. "After Bywater and - " Frodo hesitated. "After last night - "  
  
"Last night." Bramblethorn frowned as he gently dabbed the blood away from one of the rat bites. "I was so very frustrated, Frodo. So long I've been waiting for you. I had given you up as lost to me, only to have you walk back into my life and take my heart again. I have held you here, yes, but I have tried to offer you what comfort I can. The only thanks I received for my effort was to hear you calling for that gardener. It was too much, Frodo. Too much for me to bear."  
  
Frodo thought he understood what Bramblethorn was trying to say, but it was small comfort to him. "It doesn't make what you did acceptable," he said. "You say you have feelings for me, but what you did to me was an act of violence, not an act of love."  
  
"Perhaps," Bramblethorn conceded. "But Frodo, do you know what it feels like to want your affections to be returned in kind but to find that they are not? Do you know what it would have meant to me if you had ever just simply so much as taken my hand in yours?"  
  
Frodo was struck by the look of sadness in Bramblethorn's eyes. The swaggering and the threat were absent from Bramblethorn's demeanor now, and Frodo felt something entirely new regarding his captor. Despite his own fear and pain, he felt pity. How sad it was that Bramblethorn had allowed his disappointment to take him over so completely, how tragic that he had not let go of the past. How sad, that it should come to this.  
  
"I didn't understand," Frodo said. "I think I see now." Frodo shook his head slightly. "But Bramblethorn, you must understand that I cannot share your feelings. I never meant to slight you, years ago when all this trouble began. It has never been anything against you personally, but I simply have never felt the same things you describe."  
  
"Oh, you have felt them, Frodo, but not for me," Bramblethorn said, shaking his head.   
  
"I never knew you felt anything for me until that night outside the Green Dragon," Frodo countered defensively. "Even then, I feared what I saw in your eyes."  
  
"And what did you see?" Bramblethorn asked, genuinely intrigued.  
  
Frodo hesitated briefly. "I saw - I saw lust. And possessiveness. Things I've never seen in the eyes of another before."  
  
Bramblethorn seemed to consider. "Perhaps. I am willing to concede that you did not see me at my best."  
  
"You were drunk, just like you were when you - " Frodo broke off and closed his eyes, trying to distance himself from the memory. "Just like last night."  
  
"So we're back to that, are we?" he asked, finishing with the last bandage. "I will admit to being inebriated on both occasions, and to not being entirely in control of myself. But have you ever wondered, Frodo? What if I had not been so impatient those years ago? If I had approached you with greater care, might we have taken a different path together?"  
  
Frodo paused, daring to look Bramblethorn in the eyes. "I cannot say, as the past cannot be altered."  
  
"I would like to think," Bramblethorn said quietly, "that we might at least have been friends."  
  
"Perhaps," Frodo answered, shifting uncomfortably. The subject was difficult to discuss, despite Bramblethorn's apparent candor. "But now - "  
  
"But now, Frodo?" Bramblethorn paused, clearly expecting an answer.  
  
"Friends do not leave each other bound in a rat - infested cellar," Frodo said, his gaze falling upon the bandage on his hand. And they don't leave each other violated and bleeding, bereft of all dignity and hope, he thought, not daring to speak the words aloud.   
  
"I shall see to that little rat problem," Bramblethorn remarked, "and I intend to have a word with Monto about it too. If he were doing his job around here, it would have been taken care of. I shall see to it that he gets the honor of the rat hunt himself."  
  
Frodo felt the absurd urge to smile at the thought of Monto rooting rats out of the cellar. He hoped they bit him, too.   
  
"This does put us back to deciding what to do with you," Bramblethorn said calmly. "As I mentioned before, my feelings for you prevent me from allowing you to remain in the cellar."  
  
"And my, um, feelings," Frodo replied carefully, "prevent me from sharing your room willingly."   
  
"Considering that you are here against your will in the first place, that should not surprise me." Bramblethorn stood and gestured for Frodo to do the same. "And conversely, it should not surprise you that I have decided you shall indeed be kept in my room where I can keep an eye on you."  
  
Frodo bit his lip and looked at his toes. "No, it doesn't." The hard, cold knot of fear was back, settling itself into his midsection.  
  
"Well, I suppose we had better get you settled then," Bramblethorn remarked, taking Frodo's arm and leading him from the study. Frodo held back reluctantly and Bramblethorn raised an eyebrow. "We have established the fact that I do not like to hurt you, and you do not like to be hurt, correct?"   
  
"Correct on both counts," Frodo responded tiredly, sincerely doubting that Bramblethorn had any scruples when it came to hurting him.   
  
"Then come along quietly, dear," Bramblethorn said, guiding Frodo down the hallway. "Maintain your composure and I shall be gentle with you."  
  
Those words did nothing to ease his fears, but Frodo allowed Bramblethorn to pull him across the threshold of the room. If he tried to fight, he would just end up with Monto and Anson beating him into submission again. Frodo paled visibly as Bramblethorn guided him unmistakably toward the bed.   
  
"Sit quietly, my dear," Bramblethorn advised. He moved away from Frodo and paused at the armoire. He opened it and pulled out an old pillowcase.  
  
"What are you doing?" Frodo asked suspiciously.   
  
Bramblethorn gave him a pointed look, as he pulled hard at the seams causing the old threads to give way. He then proceeded to tear the fabric into long strips as Frodo watched apprehensively. He remembered Bramblethorn informing him that should he be imprisoned in the room he would be bound, and he rose and backed away reflexively.   
  
"Please, I promise I won't try to leave by the window," Frodo said, hoping Bramblethorn would spare him this indignity.   
  
Bramblethorn shook his head. "As much as it pains me that I must bind you, I am willing to use something more forgiving than rope. That is, unless you prefer otherwise."  
  
"I prefer not to be bound at all," Frodo said, striving to steady himself.   
  
"If you continue to argue with me, I shall have Monto and Anson do the job for me," Bramblethorn threatened calmly. "Now, Frodo, please choose. My gentle hands and soft cloth about your wrists, or Monto and Anson with abrasive rope."   
  
The door stood ajar, and Frodo turned to catch a glimpse of Monto peering in at him, eyes narrowed and a nasty smirk on his face. He stumbled backward inadvertently into Bramblethorn as he sought to avoid that cruel gaze. He was caught in a firm grasp and Bramblethorn gloated, "Hmmm, yes. I thought as much."  
  
Hopeless, Frodo thought. It's hopeless now. They have me as surely as if I was a coney in a snare, and I must bear it until I can bear no more. Or until Merry and Sam come for me, whichever comes first.   
  
And where were Merry and Sam? What was taking them so long to return? Frodo did not for a moment believe that they would abandon him to this fate, but he felt a growing fear that they had come to harm somehow, that Bramblethorn's treachery extended beyond Frodo's torment in his smial.   
  
Frodo was faintly aware of Bramblethorn binding his wrists in front of him. "Lie down and rest, Frodo," Bramblethorn ordered. He snaked one more length of the cloth through Frodo's bonds and around one of the bedposts. "I shall come to check on you after a while, my dear," Bramblethorn said as he finished the process. "We'll have a nice supper together later on."  
  
Frodo turned his face into the pillow. He wouldn't look at Bramblethorn. He couldn't. The next time he did, he might see that feral expression again, that look that bored into him and told him wordlessly of his helplessness.   
  
"Rest easy, my dear," Bramblethorn crooned. "There are no rats here, I promise."   
  
"Please," Frodo whispered. "Just leave me alone. Just go."  
  
Bramblethorn bestowed a light kiss on Frodo's forehead and pulled the curtains, dimming the light in the room.   
  
Closing the door softly behind him, Bramblethorn went to find Anson. The other hobbit was busy cleaning up the mess from the fire earlier. "Anson, when you're finished here, I would like you to install a lock on the outside of the door to my room. Frodo is somewhat secure there for now, but I don't want to take chances." Frodo was beginning to show signs of breaking down, and perhaps he truly wouldn't attempt to flee, but Bramblethorn still had his doubts.  
  
"All right, I'll see to it," Anson replied, continuing to mop up the water that stood in puddles on the floor.   
  
Now to find Monto and discuss the matter of the rats, Bramblethorn thought as he strode up the hallway. Monto appeared at the door to the cellar with the candle and wool blanket in hand. "What was with your pretty boy, boss?" Monto asked trying to look innocent.   
  
Bramblethorn didn't buy it for a minute. "Rats, dear fellow," he said pointedly. "You were well aware of the presence of those nasty creatures, I suspect."  
  
"Me?" Monto knew he had at best a dressing down coming to him, and at worst, maybe another black eye. "Naw, boss, I was just kiddin' when I said to put him down there and let the rats have him."   
  
"Hmmm, were you?" Bramblethorn used his mildest tone, the one that Monto had come to understand meant trouble. "I believe you knew very well that the rats were present and that they would scarcely be able to resist attacking Frodo." A hint of menace came into Bramblethorn's voice. "You never told me there were rats in my cellar, and you should have eliminated them on general principals. You will do so now, and without delay. I want every rat, dead or alive, removed from that cellar, do you hear me?"  
  
"Yes, boss," Monto grumbled. There were plenty of stray cats about Bree that would likely enjoy such sport, but Monto didn't fancy himself a rodent hunter. It was Frodo's fault he got saddled with such a duty anyway. If he hadn't caused a ruckus earlier, there wouldn't have been a fire and he wouldn't have ended up in the cellar with rats chewing on him. Monto went to find something to use as bait and to devise a method of trapping the rats.   
  
~*~  
  
The innkeeper stood outside the door with his master key in hand. He didn't normally go nosing into his guests' quarters, but those two hobbits had up and disappeared. He hoped they were planning to return and pay their bill, as he could scarcely afford to give free lodging.   
  
The door opened obediently and the innkeeper stepped into the room with a frown on his face. Most of the hobbits' belongings were still there. There were a few items scattered on the table, and he looked at them to see if they held any clues to the whereabouts of the missing guests. If they failed to return perhaps he could sell some of the items to recover his loss.   
  
As he scanned the various items, some words on a piece of parchment caught his eye. The innkeeper, now thoroughly intrigued, read the letter Bramblethorn had sent to Merry and Sam stating that he had captured Frodo. He put it down and picked up the second letter. This Bramblethorn character seemed to be getting up to some serious mischief by the look of things.   
  
The innkeeper considered recent events as he gazed at the messages in his hand. Three hobbits had checked into the room that first night, and since then he had seen only two of them. He tried to recall the appearance of the one who was missing. He remembered a dark - haired, fair - skinned hobbit who seemed a little thin for one of his kind. So this Bramblethorn had kidnapped him, then.   
  
The man stood in the room, contemplating this new knowledge. It wasn't any of his business, was it? And the note implied that harm would come to that hobbit if anyone went round looking for him. The innkeeper couldn't be certain, but he felt that Sam and Merry's absence had to do with the contents of those two letters.   
  
And then there was that fracas in the common room. Those two hefty hobbits had been getting after his guests. Were they part of the whole mess then? The innkeeper thought it likely.  
  
The second letter alluded to the fact that the hobbits were trying to get a sum of money together to ransom the other one. The innkeeper shook his head. He hoped those hobbits were from a wealthy family. Not only did they have to pay to get the other one back, but they would owe a fair sum for the length of time they had been lodged at the inn.   
  
The man sighed and put the letters back where he had found them. He'd give those two hobbits time to return and maybe he could get more of the tale out of them. He wasn't going to stick his nose into the matter any further right then. It wasn't his job to uphold law and order in Bree. He was just an innkeeper and ought to mind his own business.   
  
He closed the door and locked it again, and made his way back to the common room. There was food to prepare and drinks to serve. He had better see to first things first, and not meddle in the affairs of those who didn't ask him to.   
  
~*~ To be continued ~*~ 


	17. Misdeeds

Anarie - Bramblethorn has actually confessed something like true feelings for Frodo, but any truce between them is going to be short - lived!  
  
Endymion2 - I've actually allowed Bramblethorn to be something more than just a big nasty in this fic, but old habits die hard, you know. He's still our beloved Bramby, through and through. The innkeeper is reluctant to get involved, but sometimes a person ends up involved whether he plans to be or not!  
  
Breon Briarwood - There will be help on the way for Frodo, but it takes a little time to get from Buckland to Bree. Once Sam and Merry get there and the story comes out, you can bet an expedition will be mounted immediately. But in the meantime (cringe) Frodo is still in a precarious situation. I know it's hard to take, but I have to tell the events as they happen. Just wouldn't keep things smooth if I jump right to a rescue now!  
  
Trust No One - Frodo's not feeling much of anything like confidence right now, but he's trying to bear up and just get on until help comes. The innkeeper - and others - will indeed have a part to play.   
  
GamgeeFest - There is a bit of breaking down going on with both sides right now. The innkeeper will become instrumental, and Sam and Merry will reach Buckland soon. Merry's under the expert care of Sam, so he's going to be just fine.  
  
Stephanie - Just when it seems to be getting a little better for Frodo, psychotic Bramblethorn always snaps and does something nasty. Reactions at Brandy Hall will be seen soon. Monto is just a pig. Naturally he hates Frodo, since Frodo is everything he's not!   
  
Elbereth - There's a lot of us who feel like hugging Frodo right now. Sam and Merry will be reaching Buckland soon and spilling the beans about Bramblethorn and his nefarious plans.  
  
Shelbyshire - Rats in the cellar, rats in the tower of Cirith Ungol. Anyplace nasty is a perfect place for rats, eh? I haven't tried my hand at writing a Cirith Ungol fic yet, but you never know. Merry and Sam are getting closer to Buckland all the while, and they'll soon be on their way back to help Frodo.  
  
Iorhael - Bramblethorn will attempt to let Frodo know who is in charge any way he can, up to and including leaving him in that nasty cellar. He's not there anymore, though. He's nice and comfy in Bramblethorn's room. Yikes! Don't worry, Frodo isn't broken yet. He's just suffering the depression that's following Bramblethorn's attack. That one incident has made everything else seem just a little more hopeless than before. In this chapter, though he will get angry enough to forget about consequences for a moment.  
  
Hobbitfeet13 - The innkeeper's concerns will be growing, in part due to a conversation with a friend. More on that later, I promise! Thank you for your kind praise regarding my writing! It's funny how I'll read something someone else has written and think, wow! What a marvelous writing style this person has. I wish I could write like that. I tend to forget that maybe I have my own sort of style too.   
  
FrodoBaggins1982 - I don't mind a good long windy review, especially if it's full of good questions that make me think about my own story from the 'outside'. There will be another of those conversations between Bramblethorn and Frodo in this chapter as Frodo learns something that gets his dander up. Bramblethorn's manipulations will be in full effect here too, as he uses more of those 'choices' he likes to give Frodo.   
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
Chapter 16 - Misdeeds   
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
Anson pulled some small tools out of a pouch and began to fasten the external lock onto the door as Bramblethorn had requested. He had simply removed it from the door of Frodo's previous quarters, as it wouldn't really be needed there anymore. Monto came wandering up the hallway, cursing under his breath.   
  
"What's got you so sour?" Anson asked him while he worked.   
  
"It's all this fuss and nonsense," Monto said, gesturing to the door and the one who lay sleeping beyond it. "I don't know about you, but I've got more than I bargained for this time around."  
  
"Aww, you're just sore because you had to go get them rats outta the cellar," Anson said with a smirk.   
  
"You bet I am!" Monto replied rather vehemently. "And I'm getting tired of makin' sure the boss' pet stays on his leash." Monto threw a vicious glance at the door as he continued. "It was supposed to be an easy job, Anse. Throw a few seeds in some Shire fields and collect our pay. But no, we gotta nab that pretty boy there and make sure he stays put. It's more than my job's worth, I'm tellin' ya!"  
  
"Aww, put a cork in it, Monto," Anson advised. "You're makin' a living, aren't ya? What's a few more days of this in comparison to a share of that ransom money?"  
  
Mention of financial compensation quelled any further complaining for the time being. Within a few moments Anson had completed the work on the lock and the two left to tend to other tasks.   
  
~*~  
  
As Monto groused in the hallway, the occupant of the room was waking. Frodo's eyes fluttered open and he yawned. He was rather groggy from sleep, but he could make out voices beyond the door. His eyes fell closed again and he listened.   
  
'...makin' sure the boss' pet stays on his leash...'   
  
Frodo's face flushed as he heard those words. Bramblethorn's pet, indeed!   
  
'...throw a few seeds in some Shire fields and collect our pay...'  
  
Seeds. Fields. Frodo yawned again. Fields. Red seed pods, filled to bursting with a destructive, persistent life form. Fields burning, smoke rising. Throw a few seeds into some Shire fields...  
  
Frodo's eyes suddenly popped open as his brain assimilated the information. An awful picture began to come into all too clear focus. He, Sam and Merry had been puzzled as to how those weeds could have made their way into Buckland's grain fields. If they had been borne by the wind, they would have been found across a much larger area. If they had been brought into the Shire clinging to the feet of beasts or travelers, again, they would have been found in more than merely eight fields in Buckland. Frodo remembered that there had been no sign of the weeds in flowerbeds or the green of Brandy Hall's courtyard.   
  
The damage to the fields had been done deliberately, and the one who had ordered it soon came through the door in person. Rushford Bramblethorn. Seething inwardly, Frodo feigned sleep.   
  
"Are you rested now, Frodo love?" Bramblethorn asked.  
  
"Hmmmm. What?" Frodo asked, attempting to appear groggy.   
  
Bramblethorn reached to untie the strip of cloth that tethered Frodo's bound hands to the bedpost. "We can't have you sleeping right through supper, can we?"  
  
Untie me. Let me get my hands free and I'll pay you back for all that you've done, Frodo thought as he watched through one slitted eye as Bramblethorn loosened the knots.   
  
Bramblethorn loosed Frodo from the bedpost and untied his hands, unaware of what awaited him. "Time to wash up, dear."  
  
Frodo sat up slowly, his eyes blazing and his shoulders tensing. Bramblethorn looked at him oddly, and Frodo snarled and leapt at him.  
  
"You bastard!" Frodo swung his right fist outward and caught Bramblethorn off guard. His still - bandaged left hand he kept close to his side. "It was you! You did it on purpose!"   
  
Bramblethorn staggered backward at once surprised and infuriated. He grabbed Frodo and backhanded him. "Be still, Frodo, or I shall - "  
  
"You had them put those seeds into the fields in Buckland to ruin the crops," Frodo hissed, trying to wriggle free of Bramblethorn's grasp to do more damage to him. Bramblethorn dragged Frodo across the room and shoved him into a chair by the fireplace.   
  
Bramblethorn's sneer faded into a bemused half smile as he glared down at Frodo. "Ahhh. So you know, do you?" he asked, leaning down to pin Frodo's forearms to the arms of the chair. "I was hoping to keep that one bit of information from you for the time being, my dear. Even lovers must have their secrets."  
  
"We're not lovers!" Frodo growled. "How could you do it? How could you condemn hundreds of your own kind to hunger?"  
  
"My own kind?" Bramblethorn snarled back. "The Shire folk have not been my kind for more than four years, not since they cast me out of their midst and forced me to live here!" He punctuated the statement by giving Frodo a hard shake. Bramblethorn looked into the fiery gaze that was boring into him. "And they will not hunger, will they, Frodo? No, they will not hunger, for they have Frodo Baggins and Meriadoc Brandybuck to save them!"  
  
"You knew that if the harvest failed badly enough the folk of Buckland would be forced to seek outside the Shire for enough grain to last the winter," Frodo said coldly. "And you knew they would come to Bree."  
  
"Where else would they have gone?" Bramblethorn said with a laugh. "As I told your cousin and gardener upon the night of your arrival here, I was indeed aware of your errand. Even if Brandybuck had come alone, he would have been directed to me if he wanted to purchase any grain." Bramblethorn brought his face close to Frodo's, leering. "But he didn't come alone, did he, beloved? He brought you. He brought you to me."  
  
"No! He didn't bring me to you!" Frodo protested angrily. "He would have forbidden me to accompany him if he had know you were here, waiting to cause me more misery."  
  
"Is that what I have done, dear Frodo? Have I indeed caused you naught but misery?" Bramblethorn slapped Frodo again. "I could give you pleasure, but you refuse me."  
  
Frodo struggled to rise from the chair. "I shall refuse you with my last breath, if it comes to that."  
  
"Will you now?" Bramblethorn affected a thoughtful tone. "ANSON!" Bramblethorn's shout was loud enough to make Frodo wince, and it was answered with startling immediacy by Anson's presence in the doorway.   
  
"What is it, boss?" Anson regarded Bramblethorn curiously.   
  
"Frodo and I have had a little spat, I'm afraid. I'm sorry to say that he will be missing his supper and going to bed early." Bramblethorn looked Anson in the eye. "Please assist him."   
  
Frodo had been aware that he would likely be punished for his outburst. He glared at Bramblethorn in stubborn silence as Anson hauled him back to the bed and bound him again. Bramblethorn had left the room during the process and now returned with another cup of his special brew. He waved Anson out of the room and stood before Frodo with a frown on his face. "Frodo, you have a choice to make. You may take your tea and go to bed without your supper as punishment for your outburst, or you may apologize and be forgiven."  
  
"Apologize? I meant every word!" Frodo stared at him with open hatred.  
  
Bramblethorn sighed. "How unfortunate. You seem to forget, Frodo, while you sleep you will be by my side. If you choose to take your tea and retire, you will be too insensible to resist should I decide I want you again." He smiled as he continued. "But if we put our differences aside and forgive each other, we can still enjoy a nice supper together, and I promise you will sleep safely this night."  
  
"Your promises are seldom kept, if I remember," Frodo said tightly, eyeing the teacup. He was very hungry, having slept through much of the day without eating. His stomach implored him to play Bramblethorn's game just this once. He thought of being drugged and semiconscious in the same bed as Bramblethorn and fear gripped him anew.   
  
"Well, Frodo, what shall it be? Shall we allow the sun to set upon our ire, or shall we kiss and make up?" A gleam of undisguised mischief glittered in Bramblethorn's eyes.  
  
"You expect me to kiss you?" Frodo's voice rose in shock and dismay.  
  
"Unless you prefer the alternative," Bramblethorn said suggestively.   
  
Frodo could not suppress a shiver at the thought of Bramblethorn's arms encircling him, as he lay unconscious and sedated. The thought of giving Bramblethorn a kiss was thoroughly abhorrent, but at least Frodo would be awake and aware of what was going on. "A kiss. That's all?" Frodo asked, his voice sounding strained and laced with suspicion.   
  
"Nothing more do I require of you to restore my good humor." Bramblethorn eyed Frodo hopefully.   
  
Frodo frowned and looked away. "All right, but you must untie me first."  
  
"Of course I must, if you are to have supper with me afterward," Bramblethorn conceded. "But let's have no more aberrant behavior, hmmm? If you attack me again, I shall send you to the cellar, rats or no."  
  
Frodo tried to relax as Bramblethorn released him again. When he was free of his bonds, Bramblethorn pulled him close. "All right, Frodo, my kiss, if you please."  
  
Frodo took a deep breath, leaned forward and gave Bramblethorn a peck on the cheek.   
  
"You call that a kiss?" he said in mild consternation. "Really, Frodo, one would think you were naught but an inexperienced tween. We both know better, do we not?" Bramblethorn whispered the last in a suggestive tone as he traced the line of Frodo's jaw lightly with one finger.  
  
Frodo's stomach tied itself into a nervous knot as Bramblethorn pressed him back against the pillows and their lips met. He closed his eyes and tried to divorce his mind from his body for as long as it took to endure the moment. This time, the kiss lacked the aggressive, demanding quality Frodo had expected. Instead, it was almost gentle, searching, and somehow even reverent. Even so, Frodo was extremely glad when it ended and he disengaged himself from Bramblethorn's embrace.  
  
"Hmmmm, very nice," Bramblethorn purred. "Perhaps I should demonstrate again." Bramblethorn began to reach for Frodo once more.  
  
"Ah, no. That's quite unnecessary," Frodo stammered, pulling away uncomfortably. He fought his revulsion with the thought that he had only consented to such a travesty in order to avoid the possibility of something worse. Bramblethorn winked at him, but made no further move to touch him for the moment.   
  
"Anson will bring our supper to us here this evening," Bramblethorn informed Frodo. "He will not be hovering at your back during the meal, either."   
  
Frodo raised an eyebrow, trying to decide if this was good news or bad. It meant more time alone with Bramblethorn, at any rate. Frodo rose and washed his face at the basin, trying not to dampen the bandage on his hand in the process.  
  
Bramblethorn indicated one of the armchairs near the fireplace, and Frodo sank into it morosely. In a few minutes, Bramblethorn had the fire blazing, casting warmth and light into the room. He turned and seated himself in the chair opposite Frodo and rubbed his jaw appreciatively. "A fair swing you have, Frodo, I must admit," Bramblethorn said calmly. "All the more reason to bind you, I believe."  
  
"If you still seek an apology, seek elsewhere," Frodo advised. "What you've done is unforgivable, and I speak not only of your actions against me personally."  
  
"Have I given you so many reasons to hate me?" Bramblethorn asked, trying to capture Frodo's gaze. "Perhaps I have, in your estimation, but I have also given you warmth and sustenance, and care when you were injured."   
  
"When I was injured by you directly or by your order," Frodo protested, his brows coming together in a frown. "You may keep me warm and give me food and drink, but the fact is that you keep me. The time will come when you must release me back into the company of Sam and Merry."  
  
"Ahh, so we're back to them again, are we?" Bramblethorn said ruefully. "But where are they, Frodo? Should they not be here by now, beating down my door and demanding your release with coin in hand?"  
  
Frodo tried again to reckon the length of his imprisonment. Perhaps enough time had elapsed to allow Merry to receive assistance from Brandy Hall. Then again, perhaps it hadn't. Every hour in captivity seemed like a day in itself, Frodo reasoned. "I know what you're doing," he informed Bramblethorn. "You're trying to set me against them, to make me think they won't come for me." He shook his head. "How little you know of them, if you think they would abandon me to you."  
  
"Time will tell, my dear," Bramblethorn said thoughtfully. "And I have all the time in the world for you."  
  
At that moment there was a light knock on the door, and at Bramblethorn's acknowledgement, Anson entered the room bearing a tray of food, which he placed on the table nearby. Monto followed with another upon which stood a bottle of wine and two glasses. Bramblethorn thanked them and sent them from the room. "Let us dine together, Frodo," Bramblethorn suggested. "And you can tell me of goings on in the Shire."  
  
"I thought you weren't interested in the Shire anymore, unless you wish to know the extent of the damage you caused." Frodo eyed Bramblethorn accusingly. "How did you come by such a thing?"  
  
"I assume you mean the vine with the red pods," Bramblethorn answered as he poured two glasses of wine. Frodo accepted his glass gingerly, affected by the absurdity of drinking wine by the fire when only minutes before he had been bound and facing punishment for his outburst.   
  
"Yes," Frodo answered steadily. "What is it, and how did you know of its existence?"  
  
"It was discovered ravaging the fields of one of my grain suppliers. I confess I succumbed to the unquenchable urge to see the Bucklanders suffer the consequences of its presence in their lands," he said with a slight smile. "Perhaps it was their exuberance in hurling produce at me as I was marched through Buckland to the borders."  
  
"And that alone would cause you to consider starving them as an option?" Frodo shot back. "All this could have been prevented by - "  
  
"By your mere acceptance of me so long ago," Bramblethorn finished for him. "Had you but given me a chance, things would be very different today."  
  
"So we come back to that point, then." Frodo drank his wine as he tried to formulate an appropriate reply. "If I had laid aside the fact that I held no love for you, I alone might have prevented these events?"  
  
"Perhaps," Bramblethorn said with a nod.   
  
"If I had meekly allowed you to take me by force off the path by the Green Dragon, it would not have been the end of things," Frodo informed him. "You would never have let me be. You would have stalked me night and day, and no better would have come of it than what has come of events as they were."   
  
"But why should I have needed to force you, Frodo?" Bramblethorn said in a frustrated tone. "Think on it if you will. When I was resident in Hobbiton, was I not a hobbit of some means and distinction? Was I not well - spoken or handsome enough for you? Pray, tell me, what was it that caused you to overlook me in favor of another?"  
  
Frodo sipped his wine again as he considered the question. His stomach was empty and the wine settled warmly, relaxing him. "It wasn't a matter of overlooking you, really," he replied slowly. "It was more a matter of seeing only another to the exclusion of all else. I cannot explain it further."  
  
"Blinded by sunlight in a garden, you saw naught but he who tended it," Bramblethorn answered. "I could not awaken you with glances or poetic words spoken upon our few meetings. There was never any chance."  
  
"There was never any choice," Frodo informed him. "The heart chooses whom it may, Bramblethorn, and the mind and soul can but follow."  
  
Bramblethorn speared Frodo with a look. "And my heart had the misfortune to choose one who heeded it not."  
  
Frodo gazed back and whispered, "Without love - "  
  
"There is more than love, my dear. If not love, there is at least pleasure." Bramblethorn sipped his wine. "Do not presume to tell me that you have never lain with one you did not love when the need has taken you."   
  
Frodo fought the blush that warmed his face. "Tweens will act upon the will of nature without heed to aught else." A brief memory of too much ale, too much music, and a darkened hayloft flashed into Frodo's mind. The folly of youth could hardly be compared with the more careful consideration that set in by the time one came of age.   
  
"And there they have the advantage over us," Bramblethorn conceded. "We worry ourselves so with talk of love and commitment, rather than daring to lose ourselves in moments of joyous abandon. Have you not pondered this, dear Frodo?"  
  
Frodo's blush deepened and he wished for a moment that he had opted to accept the sedative and blissful oblivion. "I - I don't think I wish to discuss the subject any further."   
  
Bramblethorn raised his glass in salute and drained it. He had hit a mark, he knew. Frodo had not refused his kiss altogether, he recalled. He could show Frodo that love wasn't necessary between two people who sought each other's touch. Perhaps, if that touch was all that stood between Frodo and complete isolation, love could follow in its searing wake.   
  
They finished their meal in silence, and Frodo sat looking at Bramblethorn uneasily.   
  
Bramblethorn pulled two nightshirts from the armoire and held one out to Frodo. Frodo looked at it as if it were a poisonous snake that was ready to strike at him.   
  
"You might as well make yourself comfortable," Bramblethorn suggested.   
  
Frodo glared at him. "I will sleep fully dressed, thank you very much."   
  
"Suit yourself, Frodo, but as you know, that would be little deterrent should I be in the mood." Bramblethorn began to unbutton his own shirt, and Frodo turned away and stared at the wall. In a few moments, hands on his shoulders guided him toward the bed. "As per our agreement, Frodo, I am going to bind you again. I won't have you leaping up and sneaking away as I sleep."  
  
"Then lock me up again," Frodo said sharply. He waved a hand in the direction of his former room. "I don't care about the damage to the room. I'll sleep on the floor."  
  
"It's too late for that, Frodo. Anson has already taken the lock from the door of your old room and installed it on my door," Bramblethorn reminded him. "There's no need for him to lock us both in, nor should he presume to lock me in my own room for any reason. The consequences would be dire, I assure you. If we are both here and I am awake, there is little need for further precautions. However," Bramblethorn said as he readied the strips of cloth again, "I do not intend to forego my rest."   
  
Frodo tensed noticeably as Bramblethorn reached for his wrist. The grip on it tightened in warning, and Frodo looked away. Every time he fought he was beaten, and he was injured enough as it was. Bramblethorn bound Frodo again and covered him with a blanket afterward. Thinking again of Frodo's fully clothed state, he said ruefully, "You would be more comfortable if - "  
  
"No." Frodo repeated his refusal to accept the nightshirt.   
  
"Suit yourself, my love," Bramblethorn conceded, giving Frodo a quick kiss on the cheek. "Good night, my love. I shall see you in my dreams."  
  
And I shall see you in mine, Frodo thought. Nightmares all, but I shall undoubtedly dream of you.   
  
Frodo inhaled sharply as Bramblethorn settled himself on the bed and pressed his body up against Frodo's back. "Just a cuddle, my love," Bramblethorn assured him. "It wouldn't do for you to be cold, would it? I shall keep you warm, my dear."   
  
Frodo didn't answer. He was too busy trying to calm himself and to think of someone else besides Bramblethorn hugging him close. He remembered how distraught he had been after being rescued from Bywater, and how Sam had held him in similar fashion when nightmares had awakened him. Frodo was glad his back was to Bramblethorn at the moment. The tears that slid silently down his face went unnoticed by any other.   
  
~*~  
  
"You had better use the saddle, Mr. Merry," Sam said as he and Merry exchanged mounts. "If you won't take proper rest, you'll fall off your pony otherwise."  
  
Merry gratefully grasped the reins as he allowed Sam to help him climb up onto the pony's back. "Thank you, Sam. I promise we'll rest soon. Even if we pause for a little while, we shall reach Buckland late on the morrow and tell our tale." Merry both dreaded the moment and longed for it. It would be terrible having to relate the events to his father, but at least it would be a step on the way to recovering Frodo.  
  
"I hate to admit it, Mr. Merry, but I think you might be right about your message not making it to Buckland," Sam said as he checked the straps that held the saddle in place. They had met no one from Buckland on the road as they had traveled. If Merry's message had reached its destination, they would have run into someone by now. "He knew we would have to send for help," Sam said, referring to Bramblethorn. "He did it just to keep Mr. Frodo as long as he can." Tears rose in Sam's eyes anew as he remembered Frodo as he had last seen him, bound and frightened in the grip of Bramblethorn's goons.   
  
"Well he had better get it into his head that he can't keep Frodo forever. Perhaps a few more days, Sam," Merry said, considering. "Just long enough for us to make it back with the payment he demands. Then he will have to give Frodo back to us." There was as much hope as determination in Merry's voice, as if he were trying to convince himself that Bramblethorn would indeed release Frodo when the time came.   
  
Sam found himself wondering if they should not have sought help in Bree despite Bramblethorn's threats. Surely there were good folk there who would not allow such goings on in their village. But even if they had found someone who was willing to help, what could they do? Storm Breehill and hope they could dispatch Bramblethorn before he could make good his threat to harm Frodo?  
  
"I don't know," he muttered to himself.  
  
"What, Sam?" Merry prodded, having heard Sam's comment.  
  
"I just don't know what to do, Mr. Merry," Sam said, his voice close to breaking. "I was thinkin' maybe we should have asked for help in Bree, but I can't forget Mr. Frodo standin' there with that knife at his throat."  
  
"I've wondered the same thing," Merry confessed sadly. "But this is our trouble, Sam, no one else's. If we asked any of the Big Folk to help us, Bramblethorn would find out and Eru only knows what he would do as a result. As I see it, the safest thing for Frodo is for us to go through with paying the ransom."  
  
"What if he refuses to let Mr. Frodo go?" Sam asked, looking at Merry expectantly.  
  
"Then I shall kill him myself," Merry vowed.  
  
Sam was certain that the somewhat wild look in Merry's eyes was not solely the result of a clout on the head.  
  
~*~ To be continued ~*~ 


	18. Good Morning My Dear

Hobbitfeet13 - I had to let Frodo find out that Bramby was behind the misfortunes of Buckland. It was too good an angst opportunity to miss! Sam and Merry will definitely want to skin that nasty hobbit alive when they discover what he's done to Frodo.  
  
Anonymous - I was just asking myself the same question the other day as to why I just refer to our dear villain simply as "Bramblethorn". Perhaps it's due to Frodo's feelings of revulsion and enmity toward him. A refusal to be on a first name basis with such a creature. Sam would be outraged if he saw Frodo and Bramblethorn together, and none of his anger would be directed toward Frodo. He knows very well that Frodo wants nothing to do with that nasty hobbit!  
  
Iorhael - Just like Bramby to blame Frodo for the things that have happened. Frodo is starting to break, whether he realizes it or not. He's torn between fighting and preserving what little safety he has.   
  
FrodoBaggins1982 - It was time Frodo discovered the truth behind the failed harvest. You're right, if Bramby would just tone down the arrogant, possessive, controlling part of his personality he might find someone to genuinely share his affections with. You're right again that Frodo's experiences in his youth were quite different from what Bramblethorn is referring to. For one thing, both participants were, as you said, in the same condition and both were willing. They may have had some regrets or embarrassment afterward, but nobody was hurt. As to Bramblethorn's thoughts, he might very well feel a twinge of something like remorse, knowing that Frodo is miserable with him. It wouldn't last long, though, because it would be followed with the vain assertion that 'he'll come around to my way of thinking, he just needs time'.  
  
Anarie - Frodo endured the kiss for the sake of self - preservation. When faced with the possible alternatives, it seemed the lesser of evils. I haven't determined who the other young hobbit was in the barn with Frodo, but it might make an interesting vignette!   
  
Endymion2 - Bramblethorn is going to start realizing that his time with Frodo may be drawing to a close. It will begin to work on him, certainly. The conversations between Frodo and Bramblethorn are some of my favorite parts of all of this. They're so fun to write!  
  
Trust No One - Monto might be tempted to turn on Bramby from time to time, but the fact is that his greed wins out. He's making a good living by being a tough guy for hire, even if he does have to do some things he doesn't like too well. Sam may not be sure yet that something has happened to Frodo, but he certainly suspects. He knows very well what Bramblethorn has wanted from Frodo. It's the source of a good deal of his fears.   
  
Aelfgifu - I couldn't resist a scene in which Bramblethorn forces Frodo to kiss him. Big angst there. Bramblethorn and your Evil Merry have one thing in common, certainly. They are masters of manipulation!  
  
Stephanie - I felt I needed to clean up the loose end regarding the seeds in the fields. It couldn't remain a mystery for all time. They had to know that Bramblethorn did it. Merry and Sam were too frightened by Bramblethorn's threats and too distrustful of the Big Folk to seek help in Bree. Merry, through his family in Buckland, has heard more of the Bree Folk than Sam has, but he's still a Shire hobbit and the habit of not getting too involved with outsiders is unconsciously sticking with him. There is indeed law and order in Bree, be it the death penalty or otherwise.   
  
Spooasia Tomoe - Bramblethorn is trying every nasty trick in his book. There's more to come, and in this chapter he will revert to more of his old behavior. No more Mr. Nicehobbit. Merry and Sam are nearly to Buckland now, so help will be on the way. The innkeeper knows something is up, and he will have something to do with events in future chapters.  
  
GamgeeFest - Those decisions Bramby forces Frodo to make are just evil. As far as Frodo's youthful tryst in the hayloft, I'm leaving that open. Whoever it was, whether a lad or a lass, you can bet it was consensual. I have to say I don't plan for Monto to betray Bramby at this time, largely because he isn't smart enough to pull it off. He's greedy, and he's been promised a nice retainer for his services, be they what they may. Sam and Merry don't trust Bramblethorn to keep his word in the least.  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Chapter 17 - Good Morning, My Dear  
  
~*~   
  
Thin rays of light filtered in through a gap in the curtains as the sun rose over Breehill. Bramblethorn was the first to wake, slowly coming to awareness as the darkness in the room began to lift little by little. In the grey dawn his eyes slowly focused and he watched as the growing light began to reveal more of the features of the one who slept on next to him, still wrapped tightly in his arms.   
  
Frodo had lain awake long into the night, Bramblethorn knew. He had waited for the body he held in his arms to relax, for the tense muscles across Frodo's back to soften and the rigidity between the shoulder blades to ease. He had held Frodo close enough to him to feel every breath as if it were his own, and he had succumbed to sleep before he'd had a chance to hear those breaths lengthen and deepen into the even sounds of slumber.  
  
But Frodo slept now, finally exhausted enough to fall into dreams despite the bonds that secured his hands to the bedpost and the arms that encircled him like bonds themselves. His breathing was slow and steady and the dim light of dawn that crept into the room revealed him, lying on his side as Bramblethorn lay spooned closely behind him.   
  
Being careful not to wake Frodo, Bramblethorn slipped quietly from the bed. He made his way to the hearth and pulled one of the armchairs into a position near the bed where he could see Frodo's face. He conquered the temptation to open the curtains further, but waited instead for the newborn sunlight to slip quietly across the room through the small gap between the panels of fabric.  
  
What a lovely sight Frodo was, with his features composed in sleep! Dark curls fell carelessly across the pale skin of his forehead and cheek, and his brows were not drawn together in an expression of fear or apprehension. It was a sight Bramblethorn thought he could grow accustomed to, and he desperately wished for the opportunity to do so.   
  
To wake every day to such a thing was a dream beyond dreaming, a wish beyond any he had ever known. Bramblethorn felt something twist within him painfully as the truth mocked him without mercy. You will not come to see him so each day as you awaken, the voice of reason spoke cruelly. You can bind him, but you cannot bind him to you. His heart belongs to another, and you will not wrest it away with your tricks and your scheming.   
  
"You are not yet mine, are you my love?" Bramblethorn whispered as the sunlight crept across the floor, drawing nearer to the bed. "I have known the shape of you in my arms and the taste of you upon my lips, but I have yet to feel you hold me in return or to have you close your beautiful eyes and kiss me with all of your heart and soul. I have yet to tame you, Frodo Baggins."   
  
A sliver of light now shone upon the floor next to the bed, and Bramblethorn watched it creep slowly toward the still form beneath the blankets. The little ray of sunlight moved slowly, undeterred in its path, until it illuminated one of the dark curls that lay against the pillow, causing it to glow a warm russet. A few minutes more and the light caressed the delicate tip of one ear before touching Frodo's cheek and finally coming to rest upon a closed eyelid.  
  
Frodo stirred, his brows coming together in unconscious irritation at the intrusion of the light. Frodo's head turned slightly and Bramblethorn could imagine that he would have burrowed deeper beneath the covers if he had been able. As it was, with his hands tethered to the bedpost, Frodo could not grip the covers and pull them over his eyes to escape the insistent light. One eye slowly eased open and the other afterward.   
  
"Good morning, my dear," Bramblethorn said quietly.   
  
Frodo looked back at Bramblethorn with a mixture of apprehension and confusion. Why was he waking to find the other hobbit seated beside the bed, merely looking at him? He had fully expected to be awakened by insistent, demanding hands groping at him and heated breath against his throat.   
  
As if reading Frodo's thoughts, Bramblethorn smiled and continued, "I have been watching you sleep, love. I've been watching the morning come to wake you and wishing you would respond to my touch as kindly as you do to that of the sunlight."  
  
Frodo seemed to look right through Bramblethorn as he gazed in the direction of the window. "I want to see it," he whispered. "The sunlight. It's been days -" His voice caught in his throat as he looked toward the source of the beams of light. He realized that the last time he had felt the sun on his face was the final day of his journey to Bree. He had been abducted in a dark alley after nightfall, and imprisoned in a room without windows. Even use of the outdoor privy had been denied him, a chamber pot having been provided instead. The cheerful tendrils of light seemed to beckon to him now as he implored his captor.   
  
"Would you like to look out the window, Frodo?" Bramblethorn knelt by the bedside and brushed a stray curl from Frodo's eyes. "Would that please you?"  
  
"Yes," Frodo said softly. "Very much." Hope surged through him at the thought.   
  
Bramblethorn nodded. He carefully unbound Frodo's hands and drew him to stand beside the bed. With slow steps he led Frodo to the window and tugged the curtains aside to admit the early morning sunlight.   
  
Frodo stood and let the light fall upon his face, let it warm and soothe him as he had done on so many mornings in the Shire. For a moment he could almost believe he was home again, standing at his own window and inhaling the fresh scent of the flowers in the garden. The vision evaporated swiftly as Bramblethorn draped an arm around Frodo's shoulders and spoke.   
  
"I am undecided as to whether you are more pleasing by the light of a fire in the evening or the rays of the sun in the morning," he cooed, giving Frodo's neck a nuzzle.   
  
Frodo shuddered and abruptly lunged away from Bramblethorn. In sheer panic his hands flew to the window latch and he struggled with it desperately as Bramblethorn overpowered him and pulled him away.  
  
A ragged sob burst from Frodo as weariness, fear, and anguish overwhelmed him. Bramblethorn had allowed him to sleep through the night unmolested, but the morning had come and would be followed by another night. How many more days and nights would pass before the ransom was paid and Frodo would be safe once more?   
  
Bramblethorn wrestled Frodo away from the window and held him with his back against a wall. He raised his hand and struck Frodo angrily. "I am at my wits end with you," he growled, striking Frodo again. "You will only be hurt if you fight me."  
  
Frodo sagged against the wall, but remained on his feet. "I shall be hurt whether I fight or not," Frodo responded bleakly.   
  
Bramblethorn stared into Frodo's eyes and saw not the fondness he had dreamt of, but terror and misery. "You will never have feelings for me, will you Frodo?" He regarded Frodo thoughtfully, considering his next move. "If is not my fate to win your heart, I shall settle for your submission." Bramblethorn attempted to kiss Frodo as he had the night before, and Frodo pushed him away.  
  
"No! I will fight you to the very end," he declared through his tears. "I won't let you -"  
  
Bramblethorn snarled and backhanded his captive again, and Frodo slid limply to the floor. "I'm sorry, Frodo, love. You've left me no choice. If you will not return my affections, neither shall you reject them. We must work on that together, you and I."   
  
Bramblethorn opened the door and summoned Anson to bring him some rope. They lifted Frodo's limp form and tied him securely to a chair in the corner. Frodo began to come to a few moments later, as Bramblethorn paced before him as Anson exited the room.  
  
"I'm sorry I had to do that, Frodo," Bramblethorn began, "but you were being difficult."  
  
He stopped pacing and leaned down to tilt Frodo's face upward toward his own. "We must establish one thing between us if nothing else. You are entirely at my mercy. You have no choices, save the ones I am willing to give you. I shall give you one of them now." Bramblethorn smiled down at Frodo who looked blearily back at him. "I know that you do not love me, dear, but you must accept me. You must learn not to resist me any further."  
  
Through his daze Frodo tried to understand the meaning of Bramblethorn's words. Learn not to resist? Bramblethorn, as usual, demanded the impossible.   
  
"Now, we will try it again, love, and keep your choice in mind." Bramblethorn reached out as if to caress Frodo's face and Frodo turned his head quickly to avoid the touch. The hand that had been poised over his face came down and slapped him. "I told you not to resist me, Frodo," Bramblethorn warned grimly. "If you do, you shall be punished."   
  
Bramblethorn reached out again and brushed his fingers across Frodo's neck. Frodo shuddered and closed his eyes. The response was involuntary, purely an act of fear - driven instinct. Bramblethorn slapped him again. "How long must this lesson continue, Frodo?" he asked nastily. "The day is young and I have plenty of time to devote to such teachings."   
  
"You're insane," Frodo breathed, trying to calm himself.  
  
"Am I?" Bramblethorn gripped Frodo's arms and leered at him. "I think you're intelligent as well as desirable, Frodo. I think you will learn that if you wish to avoid pain, you must bear my touch. You will allow me to touch you, and I expect no turning away or straining at your bonds. If you exhibit such behavior, I will strike you again."   
  
Frodo looked at Bramblethorn in horror. Bramblethorn truly meant to break him, to reduce him to cowering compliance in lieu of willing acceptance. Words failed him as Bramblethorn looked down at him with the familiar possessive gleam in his eyes.  
  
"Tell me, Frodo, if accepting my touch is the price of your very survival, will you comply? A drink of water for the price of a caress, or a meal at the cost of a kiss?" Bramblethorn's tone was coldly contemplative.  
  
"Please, you mustn't do this," Frodo pleaded. "It's madness! You demand more than I can give you!" There was anger in his eyes as he looked at his tormentor. "You promised you wouldn't starve me - "  
  
"I promised to do you the favor of providing you with food and drink as long as you behaved yourself properly," Bramblethorn reminded him pedantically. "You have not kept your end of the bargain, my dear."   
  
"I am to be tortured for my resistance, then?" Frodo asked sharply.   
  
"It is you who torture me with your refusal to accept what I offer you," Bramblethorn answered, his ire provoked by Frodo's question. "You shall torment me no more, my love. When I take you in my arms again, you will not fight me. You may not return my affections, but you will be still. Although you will not welcome it, you will allow it."  
  
Frodo was horrified. He could not imagine accepting Bramblethorn's advances without resistance. "I will not allow it! You cannot reduce me to such a state! I shall die before I let you!"  
  
"Will you?" Bramblethorn smirked and ran a finger along the line of Frodo's collar, exposing the hollow of his throat. Frodo writhed in his bonds and received another harsh slap.   
  
"Are you tiring of this game, Frodo?" Bramblethorn asked quietly. "You can end it. You know how. Show me and I shall let you rest." Bramblethorn slowly bent down and pressed his lips to Frodo's throat.   
  
"Stop it!" Frodo cried desperately as Bramblethorn slapped him again. He could feel himself growing weaker and his consciousness beginning to fade again. The strain of the last few days had left his nerves more frayed than he dared to admit, and his voice sounded completely unfamiliar to his own ears as he pleaded.   
  
"I will not stop until you accept my touch," Bramblethorn told Frodo again. He raised his hand as if to strike Frodo again. As Frodo flinched and turned away, Bramblethorn suddenly stopped and trailed his fingers gently across Frodo's neck once more. In sudden relief at the absence of the expected pain, Frodo's tense muscles eased as Bramblethorn touched him, and too late Frodo realized that he had involuntarily done just as Bramblethorn wished.   
  
Grinning at his triumph, Bramblethorn stepped back and laughed. "You see, Frodo? You don't want me to hurt you. Therefore you will eventually give in to me whether you plan to or not."  
  
"No!" Frodo gasped in horror. "You tricked me! I shall never meekly accept the things you want to do to me!"  
  
"We shall see about that my dear," Bramblethorn gloated. "I think you need some time to think about it." Bramblethorn stood behind Frodo and placed his hands on his captive's shoulders. "I shall leave you now, but fear not, love. I shall not leave you entirely without companionship."   
  
Bramblethorn strode to the door and called to Anson, who appeared quickly to answer his employer's call. "I want you to watch over Frodo for a while. If he falls asleep, you have leave to wake him."  
  
Frodo didn't like the tone of Bramblethorn's voice. He could well imagine what Bramblethorn's bodyguard would do in order to rouse him to awareness. His back was to the door, and though he couldn't see Bramblethorn exit, he heard the door close. Footfalls drew nearer and in a moment, Anson stood before him with his arms crossed and a nasty smirk on his face.   
  
"Sleepy?" He asked nastily. "Go ahead. Close your eyes," Anson dared Frodo.   
  
Frodo glowered at him. "I would rather close my ears, since I find it unlikely that you will close your mouth."   
  
The comment earned him a slap as sound as any Bramblethorn had given him. He figured Anson would strike him for sport anyway, so he might as well be deserving of it.   
  
"I can close yours," Anson sneered, producing a cloth from a drawer in the armoire and using it to gag Frodo. "Maybe the boss likes to have long conversations with you, but I don't."  
  
Frodo gave Anson another dirty look, and then locked his gaze upon a knot in the wood of the window frame. He stared at it resolutely as Anson settled himself into a chair and busied himself with a book.   
  
I'm surprised he knows how to read, Frodo thought to himself. Perhaps, if his keeper became absorbed in the book, Frodo might catch a few moments rest before being noticed. After a while he closed his eyes, and his head began to nod. He was jarred back to consciousness as the spine of the book impacted against the back of his skull.   
  
"I'm still watchin' you," Anson told Frodo, waving the book under his nose. "Every time you close your eyes I get to whack you with this. And you know somethin'?" Anson leaned close to Frodo's face. "I'm gonna enjoy it."  
  
~*~  
  
Bramblethorn lit his pipe as he gave Monto his task for the day. "I want you to bring me word of what Brandybuck and the gardener are up to. It's time I communicated with them again, but I need to know if they've managed to get the ransom yet. They must be getting desperate by now."   
  
Bramblethorn didn't think Merry and Sam could procure enough funds to ransom Frodo and buy the grain without help, but he needed to be sure. He had managed to keep Frodo with him this long, and he hoped to prolong the game further. He fully intended to break Frodo before any exchange could be arranged.   
  
Monto left the smial gladly. Let Anson look after the boss' pet for now, he thought as he made his way toward town and the inn where Merry and Sam were lodging. It was about time he was given something more dignified to do than changing bed linens and hunting rats in the cellar.   
  
~*~ To be continued ~*~ 


	19. Whatever the Cost

Camellia - Gamgee Took - Bramblethorn seems more his old self now, doesn't he? No more Mr. Nicehobbit!  
  
Aelfgifu - Ahh, yes. Sleep deprivation as well as other kinds. As before, Bramblethorn is going to exercise his power over Frodo in every way he can. He intends that the only way Frodo will find relief is if he gives in and begs for it. I will definitely not let Bramblethorn read that article you mention. He's got enough nasty ideas of his own!  
  
CuriousCat - You're right. The way Bramblethorn says "My dear" and other endearments make them a whole different ballgame. Frodo will continue to attempt to defy Bramblethorn, but lets just say it's a good thing help will be coming soon. Bramblethorn only has a few days left to accomplish his goal.  
  
Shelbyshire - Merry and Sam will reach Buckland in this chapter and the entire tale will be out. Bramblethorn fully intends to have at least one more night with Frodo, but can he get Frodo to submit before Merry and Sam arrive with help? They'll be making all possible haste, I assure you!  
  
Stephanie - Frodo is still fighting. Bramblethorn has made his intentions quite clear, but Frodo cannot imagine giving in. He will have to be careful, though. For every comfort there will most certainly be a price, and he must decide which of those prices he is willing to pay.   
  
Hobbitfeet13 - Bramblethorn is hurt that Frodo will never love him, but he accepts that for now. Things are indeed about to become much more serious for Frodo. He has been this route with Bramblethorn before and he knows what that hobbit is capable of.   
  
Breon Briarwood - Keep chewing on those nails and they'll start looking like mine! Here's that update for you!  
  
GamgeeFest - Bramblethorn has many weapons to use against Frodo's resistance at this time, whether it's news of Sam and Merry or something as simple as a drink of water. Frodo will have to weigh his very survival against his hatred and revulsion for Bramblethorn. As to what Bramblethorn will do with the news that Merry and Sam have departed Bree, read on. It may not be what you might think, but I promise you, it is quite wicked.  
  
Endymion2 - The innkeeper will recognize Monto - if he sees him! Bramblethorn does just say some of the most terrible things, doesn't he? He's at it again in this chapter.  
  
Sam - Bramblethorn's tricks are getting dirtier all the time! Frodo is seriously peeved about Bramblethorn ruining the harvest, and many other things.   
  
Spootasia Tomoe - Bramblethorn intends to do all he can to break Frodo before Merry and Sam can get to him. Much more tension and angst on the way.  
  
Anarie - Bramblethorn will want to warn Merry and Sam against treachery. What form will his warning take? Read on. We will see just how far Bramblethorn can get with Frodo before help comes.  
  
Trust No One - Bramblethorn is definitely trying to humiliate Frodo, but the sleep deprivation is intended to weaken him further and make him more likely to comply in order to ease his discomfort.   
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
  
  
Chapter 18 - Whatever the Cost  
  
Monto walked through the yard at the back of the inn, pausing near the stables to light his pipe. He had managed to slip into the common room by the back door, and all there had been quiet. There had been no sign of the hobbits from the Shire, nor the innkeeper himself. The desk was manned by another, so the innkeeper must be about other duties, Monto surmised.   
  
The innkeeper's voice drifted out to him from one of the structures, and Monto could hear part of his conversation with another man inside. He concealed himself quickly and extinguished his pipe lest the smoke alert anyone to his presence.  
  
"How is business, Eldon?" the other man asked the innkeeper idly.   
  
"Fair enough, I suppose," the innkeeper grunted back at him as he wrestled with a broken gate latch he was attempting to repair. "But for some strange comings and goings, things have been quiet of late."  
  
The other man frowned and asked, "What do mean, my friend? Is there something of a suspicious nature afoot on the premises?"  
  
It was the innkeeper's turn to frown as he spoke. "I've been tryin' to keep my nose out of my guests' business, but there's somethin' right strange about the behavior of some of them," he conceded. "Them hobbits I gave lodgings to a bit over a week ago, for a start. There were three of them, come from the Shire or so they said. They were askin' about buying a good supply of grain. Must have had a bad harvest or some such. As I said, there was three of 'em, and then there were two."  
  
"Go on," the second man prompted curiously.  
  
"Items started to come for the other two in the post, and I swear as I'm an honest man, there was fear in them hobbits' eyes when I gave them those letters." He considered whether to go further with his explanation. He had determined that whatever was going on was none of his affair and he would be best advised to keep out of it altogether, but Darien was a lawman of Bree. He might be able to answer the questions as to the innkeeper's rights to any property left in a room by non - paying guests.  
  
"'Long about three nights ago, them other two got into a scrape in my common room with two others of their kind. It didn't look as though my guests were the cause, but there was somethin' to it they didn't want to talk about. The next day, I didn't see either of them around neither, and I've seen not a sign of them since. Their two ponies are gone, but the wagons they came in are still here."  
  
"Have you gone to their room to see if there are any clues to their whereabouts?" Darien asked his friend. This was becoming more intriguing by the moment.  
  
"I did," the innkeeper admitted. "An' here's the interesting part. They did leave some personal belongings in the room, as if they'd gone in a big hurry. They left behind them messages they'd received, and I got a look at them." The innkeeper looked rather abashed at the admission. "One of them was no less than word that the third one had been kidnapped, and the one responsible was askin' the others to meet with him to discuss  
  
terms of some kind."  
  
"Eldon, why did you not say something to me before?" Darien said in consternation. "These things simply cannot be allowed to go unanswered." The laws of the Breelanders were ancient and simple, having been passed down through generations from the time when a king ruled the lands of the West. Confining another against his will was punishable by a long term of imprisonment and hard labor, the size or race of the culprit notwithstanding.  
  
"'T ain't my business what my guests don't want me to know about. I was just tendin' to my own." The innkeeper finished with the gate latch and scrubbed his hands against his thighs. "If them hobbits don't come back, what have I got a right to in order to recover my loss on the room?"  
  
"By the law, if they have not returned in a fortnight, you have a right to any property they leave behind and you may sell it for whatever price it may bring," Darien informed him. "I'm disturbed by your news, Eldon. I plan to linger nearby for a few days in case your missing guests should return. If they do, I intend to speak with them and to know their tale in its entirety."   
  
Outside the stables Monto stood very still as he listened. This was interesting information indeed, and potentially very bad news. If those hobbits had gone for help, there could be serious trouble ahead, not to mention the fact that Men were now aware of the events. Monto slunk away silently to impart the news to his employer.  
  
~*~  
  
Bramblethorn was not pleased. He paced the floor of his study, glowering and cursing under his breath. "They've gone, then. You are certain?"  
  
"That's what them big fellows said," Monto confirmed.   
  
"Although I have attempted to make Frodo believe otherwise, his companions would never merely leave him. They have gone to Buckland to obtain the ransom." Bramblethorn stopped pacing and considered his next move. "They will have reached Buckland by now if the Men were correct regarding the time of their departure, and if they made haste. They shall likely return in only two to three days, and perhaps with reinforcements."  
  
"Do you think they're gonna try somethin'?" Monto asked curiously.   
  
"I intend to warn them very strongly against it," Bramblethorn growled with a dangerous gleam in his eye. "Good work, Monto. Get some rest, old boy. You will be watching over Frodo during the night, and your vigilance will be required."  
  
Monto nodded and left the room. Bramblethorn remained for a few moments longer as he collected his thoughts. He would have to send Monto or Anson to watch the inn and report back to him regarding the situation. He must know if Frodo's companions brought others with them. And then there was the matter of the nosy innkeeper and his friend, a lawman, of all things. Bramblethorn knew he must issue a strong warning indeed if he wanted to keep such people at bay.  
  
A thought came to him and he made his way out of the study, stopping in the kitchen on the way to his room. He retrieved the necessary items and continued down the hallway to his destination. When Bramblethorn opened the door, Anson was standing over Frodo, gripping a handful of his hair and preparing to strike him.   
  
"He keeps fallin' asleep on me," Anson said snidely as Bramblethorn entered.   
  
"Does he now?" Bramblethorn's tone was almost amused. "He seems to be awake at present." Bramblethorn placed the items he was carrying on the table. He had brought several things into the room, including a teacup and a small, sharp knife. "You may release him from the chair, but keep his hands bound," he instructed Anson.   
  
When Anson had wrestled Frodo to his feet, Bramblethorn gestured for him to bring the captive hobbit to him as he stood by the table. "Frodo, I have just received word of your cousin and your gardener," Bramblethorn said as he removed Frodo's gag. "Do you know that they have left Bree? Some nights ago, it seems."  
  
Frodo's eyes widened in shock. "No! You lie!" he gasped. "They wouldn't leave me here!"  
  
"Oh, but it seems they would and that they have," Bramblethorn said mildly. "And that begs the question, what is their purpose for having done so?"  
  
"They've gone for help," Frodo hissed. "They'll return."  
  
"As much as I would like to believe that they have given you to me permanently, I fear you're correct," Bramblethorn conceded. "And that is why we must remind your cousin and your gardener that treachery on their part will not be tolerated."   
  
Frodo regarded the other hobbit fearfully as Bramblethorn nodded to Anson. Anson forced Frodo to his knees, and Frodo squirmed desperately, unable to break his captor's hold or to foresee what was coming next.   
  
"Hold him still," Bramblethorn commanded as he reached for the cup and the knife.   
  
Frodo's heart pounded furiously. What did Bramblethorn intend to do with such things? He received the answer to his unspoken question as sharp pain shot through his hand. Frodo fought against the scream that threatened to burst from him as Bramblethorn drew the blade across one of his palms.   
  
Bramblethorn held the cup under the newly - made wound and collected the blood that ran from cut. He had not sliced Frodo's skin deeply, but only enough to produce the desired result. A moment later, as Frodo knelt trembling before him, Bramblethorn bandaged the hand and drew Frodo into his arms.   
  
"I'm sorry, Frodo, but it was necessary," he explained. "Your former companions must know beyond any doubt that your life is in my hands."   
  
Stunned beyond words, Frodo said nothing. The lack of sleep was beginning to wear on him as well as an ever growing hunger and thirst. His hand now throbbed in time with his aching head as Bramblethorn released him and Anson dragged him up from the floor and back to the chair.   
  
Bramblethorn departed for his study with the cup and the knife in hand. There was only a small quantity of blood in the cup, but enough to accomplish his task. He seated himself at his writing desk and drew a sheet of clean vellum from the drawer, dipped a quill into the cup and began to write.  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
'Dear Masters Brandybuck and Gamgee,  
  
It has been some time since our last communication, and I believe you have been rather busy in the meantime. I am aware that you have been to Buckland, and that you may now have in hand the sum required to purchase the grain and to ransom your dear Frodo.   
  
I wish to remind you that his life is mine to take or to spare as I deem necessary, and that any treachery on your part will surely have serious consequences. If you doubt me, allow me to make the truth of the matter absolutely clear to you.   
  
This message is NOT written in ink.   
  
You will await my further instructions regarding the exchange of the ransom for Frodo, and I trust that you will not do anything foolish.  
  
Sincerely yours,   
  
Rushford Bramblethorn'  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
That should deter Frodo's cousin and gardener from making any attempts to rescue him, Bramblethorn thought as he waved a hand over the page to dry the writing he had inscribed upon it. He would ensure that the message was waiting at the inn by the time those hobbits returned from Buckland.   
  
~*~ Late night in Buckland ~*~  
  
Brandy Hall had never looked so appealing to Sam. On the few occasions when he had accompanied Frodo to Buckland, Sam had found the Hall itself to be far too crowded and busy for his tastes. Now it stood before him promising new hope as he helped Merry to dismount and make his way to the main entrance. The hour was late and the doors were barred, the courtyard silent and brooding under the stars.   
  
Merry wasted no time in attempting to rouse some of the inhabitants. He thumped on the doors with his fists, shouting, "Someone, please! Let us in!"  
  
There came the sound of one of the doors being unbarred and a pair of suspicious eyes peered at the hobbits from the barely opened portal. "I've a broom in one hand and a frying pan in the other," a female voice warned stoutly. "Who dares to beat upon the doors of the Hall at such an hour?"  
  
"Let us in, Lillia," Merry said urgently. "It's Merry and Samwise."  
  
The middle - aged servant gasped at the sound of the familiar voice and flung the doors open wide. "I thought you were in Bree - "  
  
"We were, and we must go back," Merry said wearily as Sam helped him through the doorway. "Please wake my father immediately. It's very important!"  
  
Lillia made no protest, but fled hastily down an adjacent hallway to wake the Master of Buckland. Sam noted idly that she carried neither the broom nor the frying pan she had claimed to be wielding.   
  
Sam helped Merry into a nearby parlor and eased him into a chair by the hearth. "Your father will be none too pleased when he sees the state you're in," Sam lamented.   
  
"That hardly matters, Sam." Merry brushed the dust of the road from the front of his breeches. He supposed he did look a sight, having traveled with little rest for several days on end.   
  
A sound in the hallway caused both hobbits to look up. Saradoc was hurrying down the hall with an expression of deep concern on his face, his hair mussed and his eyes puffy from sleep. "Merry! Sam! What's brought you back at such an hour? For Eru's sake, look at you! You're injured - "   
  
"I'm fine," Merry answered crossly.  
  
Saradoc examined the lump on Merry's head and gave Sam a nod of approval for having tended to it. "Don't gainsay your father, Meriadoc," he chided. Once he was satisfied that Merry was more whole than hurt, he paused and looked around the room. "Where's Frodo?"  
  
"You never received our message, did you?" Merry asked, finding his fears confirmed.  
  
"I've received no messages from you since your departure, Merry," Saradoc responded with a frown. "In fact, I was beginning to wonder how you were faring." The frown deepened as Saradoc again noted the weary, disheveled appearance of both hobbits. "What is this all about?"  
  
Merry took a deep breath and Sam stared at the floor in silence. "Something terrible has happened," Merry began. "Frodo has been kidnapped."   
  
"What did you say?" Saradoc stared at Merry in shock, now fully awake. "By whom, and for what purpose?"  
  
"It was Rushford Bramblethorn. He's in Bree! He's hoarding the supply of grain and charging outrageous prices to those who wish to buy it. To ensure that we buy from him and at the price he demands, he's holding Frodo captive. He's demanded a ransom for Frodo as well." Merry's tale poured forth as Sam wrung his hands mournfully.   
  
"Bramblethorn?" Saradoc's brow creased as he spoke the name. "Wasn't he that dreadful fellow that spirited Frodo off to Bywater and did such awful things to him a few years ago?"  
  
"The very same, sir," Sam acknowledged, finally trusting himself to speak. "He's got himself a couple of nasty hired hands to help him, and they've got Mr. Frodo!" Sam's voice wavered as he thought his master's plight. "They said they'd hurt him if we don't do as they say."  
  
"This is terrible news indeed!" Saradoc exclaimed as he sank into a chair next to Merry. "We must go to Bree at once."  
  
Merry had tears in his eyes as he looked at his father. "I've failed you. I've failed Frodo - "  
  
"You mustn't take the blame upon yourself, my son," Saradoc said as he placed a hand upon Merry's shoulder. "You didn't know that rascal Bramblethorn was about when you asked Frodo to accompany you to Bree. It is very bad luck that there is no grain to be had in Bree but by Bramblethorn's provision, but it is certainly no fault of yours. Let us gather ourselves now and be away, lads."  
  
"Who shall we take with us?" Merry asked.   
  
A voice sounded in the corridor and heads turned. "You're not leaving me to sit in this bloody cave and wait for you, that's certain." Another stout hobbit was walking into the room combing his hair from his eyes with the fingers of one hand. He was tanned and weathered, and his gaze was as sharp as his voice.  
  
"Merimac! We didn't mean to wake you," Saradoc said apologetically. "How much of our trouble did you get wind of while you were eavesdropping in the hallway?"  
  
Merimac ignored the gibe completely. "Enough to know you've got trouble enough for an army of hobbits, let alone the three of you."   
  
"And you wish to journey with us to Bree? Is this the same hobbit who oft has said, 'if I cannot float there, I'll not go?'" Saradoc raised an eyebrow at the riverhobbit. Merimac was just back from a long trip and taking his rest at the hall with his large extended family. Indeed, journeys by land held little interest for him on general principles. He was much more at home on the deck of a boat then on the back of one of Saradoc's beloved ponies.  
  
"For Frodo's sake I shall bear the ground beneath my feet and your surly company as well," Mac retorted.   
  
"You're coming with us?" Merry asked his father in surprise. "But you've so much to do here! A few stout lads from the hall would be able to act as escort for us just as easily."   
  
"I have no doubt of that, but I suppose I share Mac's feelings regarding these events. It's more than just safety in numbers while transporting a large sum of funds. It's the fact that Frodo is in trouble and I cannot bring myself to stay here under the circumstances." Saradoc considered for a moment. "I think I shall ask Ned to come as well. He's a solid fellow and his duties are lighter now that harvest has come and gone."  
  
Merry groaned as he rose from the chair. "We had better get started," he said, intending to help with preparations.   
  
"You just relax for a moment, lad," Saradoc chided his son. "If you could see what a sight you are, you would betake yourself to the baths and let the rest of us see to the other tasks. You too, Samwise."   
  
Merry nodded in defeat. He knew it was more than time for a rest, and a hot bath sounded absolutely wonderful. He sighed and beckoned to Sam. "Come on, Sam. Let's make ourselves ready to take to the road again."  
  
"We'll take a wagon large enough for all of us. Those who aren't driving or preparing a meal will be able to sleep along the way. We will travel day and night, as I fear the two of you have done." Saradoc smiled at his son. "We will help Frodo. We shall have him back regardless of the cost." He knew he wouldn't like the answer to his next question. "How much?"  
  
Merry told him.   
  
The Master of Buckland stared at his son for a moment, then cleared his throat. "Very well. As long as Frodo is returned to us, I shall pay it." It seemed Bramblethorn's wickedness knew no bounds.   
  
Merimac expressed his anger with a filthy curse that made Sam's ears redden. "I shall take that hobbit to sea and kick him overboard with a large stone hung about his neck!"  
  
"And I shan't try to stop you," Saradoc agreed as they made their way down the hall.   
  
~*~ To be continued ~*~ 


	20. Rewards and Punishments

Trust No One - Bramblethorn is beginning to realize that he will indeed have a very tough time giving Frodo up. In a few chapters you'll get to see if Darien is help or hindrance.  
  
Spootasia Toemoe - Help is on the way, but it's definitely a race against time. That letter will definitely cause some serious angst on the receiving end.  
  
Shelbyshire - What is it with us and the things we allow to happen to Frodo? He's certainly endured a lot here. Any normal hobbit would be absolutely lost by now. Of course, Frodo isn't your average hobbit!  
  
Anarie - That was a horrible thing for Bramblethorn to do, but he did it all for effect. Imagine the reaction! Sam and Merry have ample reason to want to boot Bramby with all their might.  
  
GamgeeFest - Bramblethorn will continue his nasty tricks, and will grow more and more frustrated with Frodo's continuing to refuse him. Darien intends to get all the information directly from Merry and Sam. After all, who else knows the entire story? They'll have to 'fess up about it sooner or later.  
  
Hobbitfeet13 - Yes, that was purely nasty of Bramblethorn to use Frodo's blood as ink. Not, as you said, a very good substance to write with, but how better to make a terrible threat? After having Monto watch over him, perhaps Frodo will almost be glad to see Bramblethorn again. And perhaps not. You and Merimac keep growling!   
  
Breon Briarwood - Frodo's state upon Merry and Sam's return depends on how carefully he balances his defiance against Bramblethorn's ruthlessness. We've seen Bramblethorn have moments where he takes pity on his captive. Will he soften and do it again?  
  
Endymion2 - Bramblethorn really should move Frodo somewhere else, but where? That's one of his greatest flaws is overconfidence. I wondered if anyone would remember old Ned, since we haven't seen him since the early chapters. He's one of the master farmers in Buckland who helped with the removal of the weed from the fields.  
  
Sam - I enjoyed writing the description of Frodo's waking in the chapter you mention. It was fun because we were seeing it through Bramblethorn's eyes. Ahh, Frodo. Lovely, isn't he?  
  
Iorhael - For some reason I am unable to see your last review. Weird! Even in my email the entire message isn't coming through. Thanks for being there, though!  
  
Angelica - Thank you for your comments about the portrayal of Bramblethorn. When I first thought him up for "In Safekeeping", I didn't know what a creature I'd created. It took some pondering to discover that he was something more than a single - use villain. You're right. Although he may believe he loves Frodo, that emotion is being sullied by the desire to own and control him. Sam may not want to admit that he's certain something has happened to Frodo, but I agree that he knows instinctively. He wants so desperately to be wrong, though. There will be healing and comfort later in this tale. I hadn't planned an entire separate follow up story for that purpose, but I'll bring it into this one.  
  
Camellia Gamgee - Took - Merimac has spunk, doesn't he? The idea for the letter in blood came from the question, "what is the most awful thing Bramblethorn could show Sam and Merry without showing them Frodo himself?"   
  
Aratlithiel1 - Bramblethorn keeps it coming, but so does Frodo. He won't give up, not ever. That's one of the things we all love about him!  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Chapter 19 - Rewards and Punishments  
  
~*~ Buckland, pre-dawn ~*~  
  
"Are you ready, Mr. Merry?" Sam asked quietly. Merry had washed up and rested while his father, his uncle Mac and Ned the Master Farmer prepared for the journey. Sam had allowed himself the luxury of a bath and a hot meal as well, and now stood waiting to depart. Every moment away from Frodo was more agonizing than the last, and the sooner they were on their way, the better he would feel.  
  
Merry nodded and shouldered a pack of food that had been made ready for the journey. He and Sam walked out into the courtyard where Saradoc was settling a team of ponies into their harness and Mac was loading supplies into the large wagon. Esmeralda Brandybuck, Mistress of Buckland, stood nearby, holding a lantern and watching the proceedings. As Merry approached, she set the lantern down and clasped him tightly in a lingering hug.   
  
"Be safe," she said, fighting back tears.  
  
"I'll do my best," Merry replied as he returned the embrace. "We shall be fine, all of us," he reassured his mother. "And we shall bring Frodo home."  
  
Ned ambled up to the wagon with a half bale of hay and hefted it in behind the driver's seat. "For the ponies," he explained. "If we're to ask of them what I think we are, it would be no fair reward to make them eat scrub and weeds at the roadside."   
  
"Well thought, good fellow," Saradoc said with a nod. The ponies would have brief rests along the way, but for the most part the hobbits planned to travel at a constant pace. They would stop to prepare meals, but otherwise they would be on the move.   
  
"All is ready here," Mac commented as he took Merry's pack and added it to the supplies in the back of the wagon. As Merry climbed up into the front of the wagon, Mac shook his head dismissively. "In the back with you, now. You're to rest for at least the first leg of the journey."  
  
Merry tried to protest but Mac pointed at the back of the wagon where some blankets had been rolled out. "Go aft, my boy. No arguments."   
  
"It's not a ship, Uncle Mac," Merry sighed, but he obeyed. Sam climbed in afterward and settled himself among the various bags and pack, his back against the hay bale.   
  
Saradoc appeared at the side of the wagon and handed a small, sturdy sack to Merry. "You shall be the keeper of this, for now."  
  
Coins jingled in the bag and Merry peered inside. The ransom was there, and all in gold coins of higher value to minimize the weight. A surge of anger flooded through him. How he wished he could dare to go to the keepers of the laws of Bree for help! He had very nearly done so, but the image of Frodo with the knife at his throat prevented him. Bramblethorn was obviously well off now, and he would survive without the ransom. His sole purpose in all of this was to cause suffering, whether it meant Frodo's life or not.   
  
"I leave the Hall in your capable hands, Esme," Saradoc said to his wife and gave her a lingering kiss. "If any of those apprentices fail to acknowledge your authority, I shall have their hides upon my return."   
  
"They'll behave themselves, I'm certain," Esmeralda said, the hint of a smile in her eyes.   
  
Saradoc squeezed his wife's hand once more in farewell and climbed up into the seat of the wagon. "Move over, you old sailor," he berated Merimac. "You know precisely naught about driving a team of ponies."  
  
Merimac gave him an injured look that quickly turned instead to amusement. "And you'd not know your elbow from your arse aboard aught that floats!"  
  
Merry chuckled in spite of his dire mood, and explained to Sam, "We Brandybucks are an odd lot by some folks' reckoning, I suppose."  
  
"I mean no offense by it, Mr. Merry, but I'd say perhaps that's so," Sam acknowledged, still finding the concept of hobbits plying the waters of the Brandywine and even the sea itself to be extraordinary.   
  
"Get ready to hear a good bit of well - meant verbal scuffling between my father and Mac," Merry said, shaking his head. "They're as alike as can be in some ways, but they'll peck at each other for sport the entire time, like as not."  
  
"That is quite enough out of you, Meriadoc," Mac said with a wink. "A little respect for your elders if you please."   
  
"Yes, sir!" Merry responded crisply. He pulled a rolled up blanket out of a corner of the wagon and pillowed his head against it, preparing to sleep for a while. He wanted to be well - rested and fully awake when they reached Bree. If he had to deal with Bramblethorn again, he wanted to be at his full strength at the time.   
  
Sam followed suit, deciding that some rest would do him a bit of good. There was nothing more to be done for the moment at any rate. The wagon rattled away from the Hall and headed for Bree at the fastest pace the ponies could manage under Saradoc's expert guidance.  
  
~*~ Bree ~*~  
  
The sun was rising, Frodo noted dimly as he fought to keep his eyes open. As night had fallen, Monto had replaced Anson as Frodo's tormentor and had done his job well, striking Frodo with perverse glee every time his eyes closed for longer than a mere blink. Frodo was desperate for rest after so many hours of forced wakefulness. Hunger and thirst nagged at him, urging him to bear Bramblethorn's attentions in stillness, to give in and accept those hands upon him and ease the agonizing emptiness of his stomach.   
  
At least one thing had been seen to in the night. Monto had allowed Frodo a short trip to the room where the chamber pot awaited, and Frodo had been able to relieve himself of the painful aching in his bladder. He had attempted to take advantage of his brief privacy and had lain down on the floor for a few moments. Frodo had fallen asleep instantly, and it had been terrible when Monto had burst into the room and awakened him harshly. Frodo could still hear Monto's words echoing in his mind. 'I knew you'd try somethin' like that,' he had crowed. 'I ain't stupid, pretty boy.'  
  
Frodo had longed to respond with a statement to the contrary, but Monto had gagged him again before he could speak. It was just as well, since the result would have undoubtedly been unpleasant.   
  
Now, as the sun crept into the room, Frodo's eyes fell shut and refused to open. Monto slapped Frodo hard enough to make the chair move another inch away from the window. "The best part about teachin' you your lesson is that you don't ever learn it," Monto said nastily. Frodo had lost count of how many times he had been slapped awake during the course of the night.   
  
Bramblethorn walked into the room with a flask of water in his hand. He placed it on the table and nodded to Monto. "He's not slept, has he?"  
  
"Not a bit," Monto replied. "He's tried to, though. You'd think he'd get tired of getting whacked every few minutes."   
  
"You may be excused, Monto," Bramblethorn said as he began to unbind Frodo. "Frodo and I would like some privacy."  
  
Monto departed as Frodo sank limply to the floor. Bramblethorn walked to the table and retrieved the flask of water. He helped Frodo to sit up and held the water just out of reach. "You want this, don't you? I think you want it very much."  
  
Frodo wanted to shout an endless string of vile epithets at Bramblethorn, but the only thing that escaped him was a single word, spoken weakly through parched lips. "Yes."  
  
Frodo reached for the water in desperation, but Bramblethorn moved it farther away. "Remember, Frodo. You must earn it as I told you before." Bramblethorn gathered Frodo into his arms and met with no resistance beyond a broken sob.   
  
"Please! I can't stand any more," Frodo pleaded through his tears. He was nearly delirious from lack of sleep. "I shall not ask you to let me go, for I know you never will," Frodo said shakily. "But please, stop hurting me!"  
  
"Oh, Frodo, my love," Bramblethorn cooed as he stroked Frodo's hair. "I don't want to hurt you, but you leave me no choice. Will you not ease your own pain and do as I ask?"  
  
"And what do you ask?" Frodo inquired in a voice edged with panic and despair.  
  
"I shall give you the water, but you must let me hold you while you drink." Bramblethorn held up the flask again as he pulled Frodo closer. Frodo's body seemed to be operating separately from his mind, and he felt himself nodding. Bramblethorn settled Frodo's back against his chest as he sat on the rug. He brought the water within Frodo's reach and Frodo grasped it eagerly and began to drink, easing his overwhelming thirst.   
  
"Easy, my dear," Bramblehorn cautioned. "Slowly. You mustn't choke, after all." Frodo drained the flask to the last drop as Bramblethorn embraced him.   
  
"More," Frodo pleaded as Bramblethorn took the empty flask from his bandaged hand.   
  
Bramblethorn cuddled Frodo happily as he spoke. "That is all for now, love. Do you feel better?"  
  
"I'm tired," Frodo whispered as his eyes fell closed again. "So very tired."  
  
"Of course you are," Bramblethorn acknowledged. "And you may sleep now, my dear." Bramblethorn lifted Frodo from the floor and all but carried him to the bed. He allowed Frodo to lie down and brushed the stray curls from his eyes. "But first, you must give me a good night kiss."  
  
Frodo's disconnected mind forgot that protests should come before all else and he muttered, "It's morning."  
  
"A minor detail, my sweet." Bramblethorn leaned down and kissed Frodo's lips tenderly. Frodo lay unmoving, very nearly asleep already. "I told you that you would cease to resist me," he whispered, pleased with Frodo's compliance. "I am rewarding you, Frodo. You learn quickly."   
  
Frodo didn't answer. His eyes were closed and he sank into the blessed oblivion that had been violently denied him through the previous day and night.  
  
"Yes, love. Sleep," Bramblethorn said, pulling Frodo close again. "Sleep here in my arms where you belong, where you should have been so very long ago."   
  
Bramblethorn was elated with his success. If it took weakening Frodo by these methods to make him comply, so be it. Of course, he couldn't keep Frodo in such a state constantly. It wouldn't be nearly as satisfying to have him if Frodo were unconscious at the time. Bramblethorn wanted to feel Frodo's skin beneath his hands and to know that Frodo felt his touch. Fear would keep Frodo from fighting him then, fear of punishment for struggling or denying such attentions.   
  
The tactics were already working, Bramblethorn thought as he thrilled to the warmth of the body in his arms. Frodo had said he would no longer ask to be freed, just not to be hurt. Bramblethorn frowned to himself as he considered. To free Frodo, to simply let him go and disappear into the world again was becoming more and more difficult to contemplate. The ransom would be a fine addition to Bramblethorn's wealth, but what price the presence of this beautiful being in his arms? What would it cost him to see Frodo leave him, forever more than likely?   
  
"We still have time," Bramblethorn whispered to the somnolent figure next to him. "The game is not over yet." Perhaps tonight, Bramblethorn thought, or maybe the day after. One more time together at least, come what may. If he did indeed give Frodo up, he would have the memory of him. The memory of deep blue eyes and soft, pale skin, of quickened breaths and wordless exclamations. Yes, one more time but without the need for force, just calm reminders of punishments past to bring compliance if not passionate reciprocation.   
  
Bramblethorn eventually drifted off to sleep himself, his arms still wrapped tightly around the one he desired so greatly.  
  
~*~ Later that afternoon ~*~  
  
Bramblethorn woke late in the day to find that Frodo was still sleeping. It wasn't surprising, really. Frodo had been denied sleep for many hours and would likely rest for some time to come if left to his own devices. Bramblethorn slipped silently from the bed and found the strips of cloth he had used to bind Frodo earlier. He secured his prisoner again, noting as he did that the bandages covering Frodo's rat bites needed changing again, as well as the bandage covering the cut on his hand. Frodo slept on through the entire process.  
  
The day had been encouraging for Bramblethorn, and he hoped the evening would be no less so. Perhaps the promise of something to eat would rouse Frodo from his slumber. Bramblethorn didn't think it would be entirely to his advantage to allow Frodo to become too well - rested just yet. Better that he still be somewhat weary and less inclined to argue.   
  
In the kitchen, Bramblethorn prepared more of the stuffed mushrooms he and Frodo had enjoyed the night they had first dined together. They smelled wonderful as they cooked, and Bramblethorn couldn't imagine Frodo being able to resist them after missing several meals. He believed he knew just how to use them to achieve his ends.   
  
While the mushrooms were cooking, Bramblethorn prepared more bandages and heated water to cleanse Frodo's wounds once again. It occurred to him that it was a good thing Frodo had not been gagged when he was in the cellar. Had he been unable to make himself heard when he screamed for help, his condition might have been much worse.  
  
Bramblethorn tucked the bandages into the pocket of his breeches and put the mushrooms and other items on a tray. As he entered the room and placed the tray upon the table, he was pleased to see that the aroma of the tasty mushrooms was indeed causing Frodo to wake. "Are you feeling more rested, love?"  
  
The only answer was a small groan as Frodo closed his eyes again.   
  
"We must see to those bandages of yours before all else," Bramblethorn said idly as he tilted the kettle and poured water into the bowl. He approached the bed with the water, towel and soap, and began to remove the bandages covering the rat bites on Frodo's feet and legs.   
  
Frodo twitched as the soapy water stung in the wounds. Bramblethorn worked his way upward until he reached Frodo's hands. He unbound them and changed the bandages, attempting to further rouse Frodo with discussion of a topic that should be of particular interest. "Can you smell them, Frodo?" he asked as he wrapped the bandage around Frodo's palm. "I've brought mushrooms, since I know you enjoy them so."  
  
Frodo finally spoke, hardly daring to believe that his hunger was to be eased by the very one who had caused it. "I'm hungry," Frodo muttered thickly. "Will you let me eat or is this another means you devised to torment me?"  
  
Bramblethorn laughed. "I shall indeed allow you to have them, provided you are willing to do your part."   
  
"My part?" Frodo said in confusion. There was something about Bramblethorn's words that made him very uneasy.   
  
"Yes, dearest," Bramblethorn answered, retrieving the tray from the table. He seated himself next to Frodo on the bed and held up a plump, juicy mushroom to inspect it. "As with the water and the lovely nap you've enjoyed, you must earn this by doing as I bid you."  
  
"How can you do this to me?" Frodo asked incredulously. The few hours of sleep he had been allowed had restored him somewhat and he balked at the thought of what Bramblethorn might be suggesting.   
  
"How can you do this to yourself?" Bramblethorn shot back, popping the mushroom into his mouth. "If you co - operate, you shall enjoy these lovely mushrooms. If you refuse, you shall remain hungry."   
  
Frodo wondered apprehensively what it was that Bramblethorn required of him now. He hadn't long to wait before he learned what the other hobbit had planned. Bramblethorn waved a mushroom under Frodo's nose and as Frodo moved to grab it, Bramblethorn grabbed his wrist. He unbuttoned the cuff of the shirt Frodo wore and surrendered the mushroom to his hungry captive. Hunger won out over fear for the moment as Frodo all but swallowed the mushroom whole.   
  
Bramblethorn chuckled. "There are more where that one came from, my dear." He succeeded in unbuttoning Frodo's other cuff and gave him another mushroom. Frodo barely noticed what Bramblethorn was up to, so intent was he upon the food. His stomach growled, pleading for more.   
  
Frodo realized with a start that Bramblethorn's hands had moved to his collar and were now undoing the top button of his shirt. He flinched and tried to brush the hands away, and Bramblethorn favored him with a warning look. "For every button, I will give you a mushroom. Otherwise, you shall have none. You are hungry, aren't you, Frodo?"  
  
Frodo's stomach twisted painfully. He was terribly hungry and he found he couldn't tear his gaze from the mushrooms on the tray. As he stared at them, Bramblethorn managed to finish with the button. "You see, Frodo? It's quite simple." He leaned close and fed Frodo a mushroom. "Buttons for mushrooms. Just buttons, love. That is all." He spoke in a near whisper and Frodo continued to be nearly mesmerized by the sight and smell of his first food in a day and a half.   
  
Another button, another mushroom. Before Frodo's mind began to get the better of his stomach, Bramblethorn had completed the task of unfastening the second and third buttons.  
  
  
  
Instinct awoke and asserted itself. Frodo gasped and twisted away. What if Bramblethorn failed to stop with the shirt? "NO! By Elbereth, you shall not touch me again!"   
  
"Oh, but I shall, Frodo," Bramblethorn promised, capturing Frodo in a firm grip and fixing him with a stern look. "And you shall bear it, or you shall bear the consequences of your refusal." Bramblethorn indicated the remaining mushrooms on the tray. "You have eaten so little, my love. Do you wish to remain hungry then?"  
  
Frodo felt tears of frustration building and preparing to flow from him. Bramblethorn would withhold food, drink and rest from him until he simply gave up and allowed himself to be taken. There was no escape possible from the horrors that awaited him. "How can you be so cruel? You profess your feelings for me and yet you seek to destroy me."   
  
"I do not wish to destroy you, Frodo, I merely desire you," Bramblethorn explained. "We both know I shall have you one way or another. It is up to you whether I am gentle or whether I am forced to harm you. Do not make me harm you again."   
  
Frodo's composure was completely shattered at the thought of Bramblethorn forcing him a second time. "Please, I beg you!" he sobbed in despair. "Spare me the act you speak of!"   
  
Bramblethorn gazed at the trembling, pleading figure before him. He still gripped both of Frodo's wrists tightly, and Frodo hung his head in shame as his tears fell. "You are quite undone, aren't you my dear?" He examined Frodo thoughtfully. "Have I broken you at last?"  
  
Frodo could not bring himself to answer immediately. He finally raised his eyes to Bramblethorn's and whispered, "Is that what you want? Do you want me to surrender all hope and will to live?"  
  
Something in Frodo's eyes silenced Bramblethorn's intended reply. Or was it something that was not in them? The beautiful light that had mesmerized Bramblethorn the first time he had seen Frodo and looked into his eyes was all but absent now. It was but a dim flicker, hidden behind fear and pain.   
  
Bramblethorn released Frodo's wrists and touched his face softly. "No, love. I do not wish you to surrender all that you speak of, but will you not surrender even the slightest part? I promise I shall not hurt you now."   
  
Frodo rubbed at his wrists and tried to calm himself as Bramblethorn brought the food within his reach. "Eat, Frodo. Let your hunger be eased."   
  
Despite his emotional state, which would normally have caused his appetite to disappear entirely, Frodo did as he was told. Here, finally, was one command of Bramblethorn's he would gladly obey.   
  
Bramblethorn made no more aggressive moves, but merely sat beside Frodo, rubbing his back. He realized glumly that it was too soon to manage anything more. If he were to force Frodo again now, it would break him. It would not make him any more compliant, but would render him vacant and entirely unresponsive.   
  
When Frodo finished the mushrooms, Bramblethorn removed the tray and watched as the other hobbit sagged against the pillows at his back and re - fastened the buttons of his shirt. Frodo's hands were shaking, rendering the task more difficult than usual, but he managed. Still weary, Frodo lay down and closed his eyes. He heard Bramblethorn approaching but made no effort to acknowledge him.  
  
"I will prove to you that I am not entirely without patience or compassion," Bramblethorn said quietly.   
  
"And how," Frodo muttered into the pillows, "do you intend to do that?"  
  
"As I said, I will not demand anything of you at this moment. I shall allow you to rest." Bramblethorn combed his fingers lightly through Frodo's hair. "I will not bind you, but I shall remain here to watch over you."  
  
Frodo made no reply, but burrowed deeper into the pillows and sought the only escape now left to him.  
  
~*~ To be continued ~*~ 


	21. The Predator and the Prey

Trust No One - Bramby's mind is a scary place, isn't it? Whether Frodo fights him or not, Frodo will never be willing. Bramblethorn simply refuses to accept that fact.  
  
Stephanie - At this point, Bramblethorn isn't entirely sure what his plan is regarding Frodo either. The more he thinks about giving him up, the more averse he is to the idea. I think the reason you're anticipating the reaction to the blood letter is the angst it will provoke. We all love the angst!  
  
Wilwarin - Thanks for your kind comments! In a way, I think Sam does feel better about going to Buckland even though it means leaving Frodo in the most literal sense so far. Neither Merry nor Sam would mourn if Bramblethorn were no more.  
  
Spootasia Tomoe - Frodo's honest expression of his pain was all that saved him. Bramblethorn has just enough affection for him that he decided he had taken things far enough for the moment. Help is coming!  
  
Breon Briarwood - That hidden reserve of Baggins stubbornness and strength is still there, even if Frodo himself seems not to know it.   
  
Hobbitfeet13 - You're right about Bramblethorn. He does understand what he's doing to Frodo, but he expects it to be a temporary thing. He expects that if he manages to break through Frodo's refusal of him that Frodo will eventually accept him. I had to add some comic relief in the last chapter. I think I needed it too, after all the angst. Merry is plotting something, but it remains to be seen whether his plans will come to fruition.  
  
Sam - Pippin will show up in the last chapters, I promise. After putting up with all that business with his cousin's wedding in Tuckborough, he'll be ready to get out of there for a few days. What better way than a visit to Buckland?  
  
Aelfgifu - Bramblethorn has his moments, doesn't he? Still no bath scene, I know. He can dream about it, can't he?  
  
Anarie - It will be good to see Frodo safe in Sam's embrace again when all this is over. The race against time has begun, and who knows? Perhaps Bramblethorn will have one last go at Frodo before saying farewell.   
  
Endymion2 - The last chapter was somewhat unagressive on Frodo's part, but just wait!   
  
GamgeeFest - That's Bramblethorn's tragedy. He can't have it both ways. He can either have a Frodo who is so broken that he doesn't fight anymore, or he can see the 'spark' he was drawn to in the first place, but only from afar. It is a good thing Bramby is unique as hobbits go!   
  
Aratlithiel1 - It sure will take more than Bramblethorn to dim the light that is Frodo's spirit. Bramblethorn may think he knows his quarry, but there's a lot more to Frodo than meets the eye!  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
  
  
Chapter 20 - The Predator and the Prey  
  
The ponies munched happily on the hay that Sam had given them while the aroma of a late breakfast drew the hungry hobbits to the small fire Sam had built. Bacon sizzled in the pan and the kettle began to whistle.   
  
"If Frodo could ever spare you for a spell, I could use a hobbit like you on my boat," Merimac said appreciatively. "It's hungry work, plying the waters."  
  
Sam's face lost some of its color at the mention of the idea. "Meanin' no offense, sir," Sam said with a shake of his head, "but I don't get very near water deeper than the bath if I have my say."  
  
Merimac laughed and thumped Sam on the back. "Forgive me, Master Samwise. I forget sometimes that not all hobbits like to listen to the song of a swift current or a wave breaking on the shore."  
  
"Merimac, you unredeemable rogue," Saradoc said as he strode up to the fire with Ned and Merry following close behind. "It's bad enough, the trouble Frodo's in without you trying to divest him of his gardener in his absence!"   
  
Merimac looked abashed for the briefest of moments and Merry managed a smile. "Take it as a compliment, Sam," he said. "You're certainly the best cook a hobbit could be blessed to travel with."   
  
"Thank you, Mr. Merry," Sam said glumly. He poked at the potatoes rather absently.   
  
"This Bramblethorn fellow," Merimac began. "Wasn't he the chap who was banished from the Shire a few years back for assaulting Frodo?"  
  
Merry nodded. "The very same."  
  
"Hmmm," Merimac responded, searching his memory for more details. "I don't remember hearing much more about the incident."  
  
"If you spent a fraction of the time in the Shire that you spend out of it," Saradoc said disapprovingly, "your memory might serve you better."  
  
Merimac ignored him and Merry rose to his uncle's defense, if indirectly. "Frodo doesn't talk much about it," he muttered. "It's not surprising that few details have reached you."  
  
"So he was banished, then. The good folk of the Shire kicked him out and he landed in Bree?" Merimac pressed on.   
  
"Yes, Uncle Mac," Merry replied. "Two years afterward, Bramblethorn kidnapped Frodo and tried to force him to recant his testimony so that he could return to the Shire. He held Frodo captive for a week before we found him." Merry's eyes seemed to cloud over with something dark and Sam stabbed a fork rather sharply into one of the potatoes. "Bramblethorn tortured Frodo, Uncle Mac. He starved and beat him, and kept him bound in a dark room. It was terrible."  
  
"And now Frodo has fallen into the scoundrel's clutches again, eh?" Merimac put a hand on Merry's shoulder gently. "And how long has it been since you've seen Frodo?"  
  
Merry tried to reckon the length of Frodo's imprisonment. He and Sam had waited four days for help to arrive from Buckland. When no help came, they had spent several days traveling at a punishing pace. They had barely paused in Buckland, and now had a minimum of two to three days to go before they reached Bree again. "By the time we get back, it will be nigh on a fortnight," Merry admitted.   
  
"It's awful, sir," Sam said sadly. "Bramblethorn has himself a couple of friends to help him do his dirty work an' they had a knife to Mr. Frodo's throat. If we're to keep 'em from harmin' Mr. Frodo, we can't go to anyone in Bree for help. We can't try an' rescue him, neither. They'll hurt him if we do. They said as much."  
  
"So here you are, forced to play this beastly game. Have you any assurances that Frodo is all right?" Merimac hated to ask the question, but he felt they should be prepared for whatever lay ahead.  
  
"No, Uncle. That's the worst part," Merry said as he glared into the fire. "In the past, when Bramblethorn has wanted something, he has had no reservations about hurting Frodo in order to accomplish his ends."  
  
Merimac frowned. "And just what is it that creature wants? He's to have the payment he's demanded, is he not?"  
  
Merry looked apologetically at Sam. This was not a subject he wanted to speak of, but he trusted his uncle to understand. "All this trouble began so long ago because Bramblethorn - " Merry struggled with a tactful way to present the problem. "Because he had a great desire for Frodo."   
  
"Ah. I see," Merimac said with a nod. "And when Frodo did not desire him in return, the scoundrel attempted to force him, didn't he?" It was a fact that a certain amount of mischief went on among curious tween lads, and that some hobbits carried on such behavior even after they had come of age. But this had gone well beyond mere mischief, Merimac knew.  
  
"Bramblethorn is a pompous, controlling, bloody - minded monster," Merry spat angrily. "He cares only for what he wants, never mind how it affects others around him."   
  
"If he still wants to - " Sam stammered. "If he still wants Mr. Frodo, there ain't aught we can do to save him." Sam had never felt so utterly helpless in his life.   
  
Ned had remained silent thus far, but he addressed his companions and gestured toward the wagon. "We had better have ourselves somethin' to eat an' get back on the road, I reckon."   
  
Merry looked at the farmer and nodded sharply. Trust the straight - forward, pragmatic hobbit to bring them all back to the task at hand, he thought. Sam served up breakfast and washed up the pans with water from a small stream nearby, and a rather subdued group of travelers took to the road again, each one lost in his own thoughts.   
  
~*~ Bree ~*~  
  
Bramblethorn sat before the fireplace in his room while Frodo lay asleep on the bed. It was late morning and Frodo slept on, his body still craving sleep after being deprived of it. Bramblethorn brooded as he poked the embers and added another chunk of wood.   
  
He alternated between cursing himself for his hesitation and wondering at the cause of it. The opportunity had been perfect the night before. Frodo had been just weak and confused enough, just hungry enough that Bramblethorn should have been able to control him with the promise of sustenance. Still, at the crucial moment, he had gazed into Frodo's eyes and seen something that stilled his hands and silenced his demands for Frodo's compliance.   
  
He had seen an emptiness where before there had been a spark of spirit. True, Frodo would lie still in Bramblethorn's arms if he were to be broken, providing no resistance to all that was demanded of him, but at what cost? Bramblethorn closed his eyes and pictured himself sitting before the fire with Frodo next to him, not in companionship but in empty silence. He imagined Frodo not seeing him, not hearing him, but simply staring into the fire and yearning for freedom, for escape.   
  
Anger flowed as an undercurrent beneath the confusion. Is it so much to ask, just one night together? Is it truly so terrible a thing to him to feel my touch? I could show him pleasure if only he would let me! Bramblethorn jabbed at the fire again and a voice behind him startled him from his reverie. Frodo.   
  
Frodo had sat up and was looking at the bandage on his right hand where Bramblethorn had drawn the knife across his palm. "You cut me. Why?"  
  
Bramblethorn sighed. "I had reason to believe your cousin and your gardener might be contemplating disregarding certain of my instructions. I needed to remind them that I meant it when I told them to take care."  
  
"And so you hurt me, just to warn them somehow?" Frodo frowned at Bramblethorn's back. "What did you do?"  
  
Bramblethorn spoke sharply as he turned and looked at Frodo over his shoulder. "I wrote to them. I wrote a letter, Frodo. A letter written in your own blood."   
  
Frodo's face drained of all color and he felt faint. "You - you WHAT?" he hissed in disbelief.   
  
Bramblethorn turned to face his prisoner, schooling his features into the unrepentant smirk he always used when he wanted to put Frodo in his place. "You heard me, Frodo. What better warning than such a reminder of your position? If they doubted that your life is in my hands, they know it now."  
  
"You're the most evil creature I've ever encountered," Frodo said angrily. "Isn't it enough that you torment me? Must you torture them as well?"   
  
Bramblethorn's eyes narrowed as he considered the Frodo he saw before him now. Frodo was no longer confused or sleep - deprived, and he was rising defiantly again to face his captor. "What are you prepared to do to keep me from troubling them with such things? Just say the word, Frodo, and I shall spare them additional pain."  
  
"What word, Bramblethorn?" Frodo growled, meeting the other hobbit's gaze.   
  
"Yes." Bramblethorn approached slowly, staring Frodo down as he crossed the room. "You have but to say that simple word to me, and I will not trouble them with things that will make them fear for you."  
  
"They will fear for me regardless," Frodo shot back, rising to stand and face Bramblethorn. "You saw to that the moment you brought me here. You can only change that by releasing me."  
  
"Then I shall not, for I want them to fear!" Bramblethorn lunged forward and grabbed Frodo by the front of his shirt and stood growling into his face. "I want them to wonder in every waking moment whether I am claiming you, whether I am taking what you've withheld from me!"   
  
"Have you forgotten?" Frodo breathed as the stirrings of fear gnawed at his defiant anger. "Do you forget that you already have?" He twisted out of Bramblethorn's grip and backed away.   
  
"Perhaps I wish to be reminded," Bramblethorn answered dangerously. He watched Frodo the way a wildcat would watch a rabbit it was hunting. "If you insist on fighting me, Frodo, then do so. Show me your best effort, if it will be any consolation to you when I've finished."  
  
"Stop this!" Frodo gasped as he barely evaded Bramblethorn's attempt to grasp him again. He was thoroughly frightened now, fighting panic as he recalled seeing the same look in Bramblethorn's eyes only a few short days and nights earlier. Frodo tried to clench his hands into fists and pain shot through them. The rat bite and the wound Bramblethorn had dealt him would render him unable to damage anyone who sought to harm him.   
  
"Come, Frodo, let us lie entangled in the sheets and one another again," Bramblethorn taunted, making another grab for Frodo. "I want to hold you down again and hear you scream."   
  
"No... stay away from me!" Frodo felt his composure beginning to erode rapidly as Bramblethorn advanced. He ducked away again and found his back against the wall beside the hearth. His hand flailed backward and grazed the handle of the poker Bramblethorn had stirred the fire with earlier. Keeping his eyes locked with Bramblethorn's, Frodo wrapped his fingers around the handle of the implement and waited.   
  
"You did scream, Frodo," Bramblethorn informed him. "Don't you remember? You screamed as if it were your first time, although you said it wasn't. Was it, dearest? Have I been wrong about your gardener all this while?"   
  
Beads of sweat formed on Frodo's brow. "You've been wrong about a great many things," he said, his voice quavering and betraying his terror. He wasn't about to discuss the details of his intimate experiences with Bramblethorn, be they what they might. "I cried out because you hurt me!"  
  
"Are you sure it wasn't pleasure that made you raise that lovely voice of yours?" Bramblethorn was moving steadily closer, enjoying the effect his menacing approach was having on Frodo. "It could have been. It can be. Let me show you, Frodo."  
  
"No! Get back!" Frodo brandished the poker. "I shall kill you, I swear it!"   
  
"Could you accomplish it before I could summon Monto and Anson to subdue you?" Bramblethorn took keen pleasure in reminding Frodo that he was hopelessly outnumbered, three to one. "Wound me you might, but kill me? No, Frodo. Your hands are trembling. You've barely the strength to lift your weapon, much less to strike me with it."   
  
Frodo was indeed shaking, he realized. He was gripping the poker with both hands and holding it before him, unable to wield it effectively due to his injuries. There was a ringing in his ears and his vision seemed to be narrowing to block out anything on the periphery. His heart thudded hard in his chest and he wavered on his feet, trying to keep from swooning.   
  
He barely heard the door burst open and he was all but unaware of Monto and Anson's approach. The raised voices of predator and prey had brought them, alerting them to the possibility that something was wrong. Hands closed around his wrists and twisted, and the poker fell uselessly to the floor with a loud metallic clang.  
  
"Ahh, Frodo, you disappoint me." Bramblethorn strode up to Frodo and stood triumphant before him as Monto and Anson held him firmly. "I thought for a moment that you really were going to present a challenge." Without waiting for Frodo to reply, Bramblethorn backhanded him as hard as he could and Frodo sagged between the two burly hobbits who gripped his arms.   
  
Bramblethorn motioned for Anson and Monto to bring Frodo and follow him. They dragged their unconscious burden down the steps and into the cellar. "I want him bound and blindfolded," Bramblethorn instructed. "He's not to see anything but what I allow until he's held writhing before the eyes of his cousin and gardener again." He caressed Frodo's cheek and said, "Farewell for now, love. You shall miss me when you've no one to keep you company."   
  
Bramblethorn left the task to his hired help, and within a few minutes, Frodo again lay bound on the floor of the cellar. Monto sadistically regretted having not left just one single rat lurking in the shadows. The bolt clicked in the lock, causing light and sound to disappear, leaving only the stillness and a battered prisoner who had dared to oppose his captor.  
  
~*~  
  
The innkeeper flipped through the messages that had arrived in the post. He was nearly to the bottom of the stack when he caught sight of the lettering on one of the envelopes. He pulled it from the pile and examined it closely. Another message to his now departed guests had arrived. He tucked it into a pocket and stepped away from the desk to a table in the common room.   
  
"Something of interest?" Darien inquired, looking up at his friend.   
  
"Might be," the innkeeper countered as he produced the message. "Someone seems to think them hobbits are comin' back."  
  
"Then perhaps they are," Darien replied. "Let us keep the message for them and give them a few more days. If they return from where they've gone, we shall confront them."   
  
The innkeeper nodded. All this intrigue was more than his usual share, he thought, but Darien knew what he was doing. The lawman could be as subtle as he was daring, and his instincts were sharp. If there truly was anything to this kidnapping business, the innkeeper felt certain his friend would get to the bottom of it. The affairs of hobbits were usually their own, but the law was the law, and punishment would be meted out accordingly, regardless of the race of the perpetrator.   
  
Darien sat alone and contemplated the room at large as the innkeeper went back to his desk. The hobbits of Bree were among the more law - abiding citizens of the village on general principles. Darien realized that he could not recall a single instance when one of them had been punished for anything more serious than a bit of brawling after too much ale. It remained to be seen if the crimes of the suspected hobbit would warrant any punishment more severe than imprisonment and labor in the service of the people of Bree. The entire story had yet to be told, and he hoped the missing parts would be brought to light in short order.  
  
~*~ To be continued ~*~ 


	22. Pondering the Future

Sam - Bramblethorn might have a heart in there somewhere, but it's buried under his possessiveness and massive ego. There will be a reunion in chapters to come, but not quite yet, I'm afraid.  
  
Gothic Hobbit - Damn Bramblethorn indeed! We'll be getting Frodo out of there soon, but there is still angst and danger ahead for a little while.   
  
Spootasia Tomoe - It's a very good thing there are people like Darien in Bree. Bramblethorn is something else, isn't he? It took me a while to sort out his motivations, believe me. The scariest part of writing him is that I have to 'get into his head', and that's quite a place to be.  
  
Shelbyshire - I don't plan to let Frodo be beset by nasty bugs while in the cellar, but he isn't out of danger by a long shot. This story is about 30 chapters long, including the aftermath angst and comfort parts.   
  
GamgeeFest - Frodo has something of a respite while in the cellar, but Bramblethorn will be back, rest assured. Sam and Merry are more in dread than denial regarding what has happened to Frodo. They are certainly hoping that Frodo has managed to fend off his all too ardent admirer, but they are trying to prepare themselves for the worst. The innkeeper, whether he planned on it or not, has managed to get involved for certain.  
  
Breon Briarwood - More? Ok!  
  
Hobbitfeet13 - That's the trouble with the spot Frodo is in. If he doesn't fight, Bramblethorn will have him again, no question. If he does resist, punishment is also a certainty. Hurry, Sam and Merry! Darien will be a part of the action later, absolutely.   
  
Anarie - Bramblethorn, in his wrath, has cast Frodo into solitary confinement in the cellar, but we all know he can't bear to not be near him. He's become far too attached. He will pay Frodo a visit in this chapter. True, if Bramby decides to take Frodo in the cellar, he won't be any kind of challenge. But I can't say more on that here, or I'll spoil the next few chapters. Frodo is near to breaking, but he hasn't done so yet.  
  
Endymion2 - Bramby has allowed himself to get into a bit of a quandary regarding Frodo, hasn't he? As to keeping Frodo alone in the cellar, we all know Bramby won't be able to resist visiting him. Darien and the innkeeper haven't read the message. After all, that's mail fraud, LOL! They'll be on hand when Merry and Sam read it, though.  
  
Stephanie - I agree. I love the hobbit angst too, precisely because I can indulge in feeling sorry for them and wanting to comfort them. In a way, I think Frodo is glad of his solitude, be it what it may. Darien will be helpful when push comes to shove. I like writing a little bit about each group of characters and what they're up to in each chapter when I can. That way, I can show what's going on in two different places simultaneously instead of having to catch up after the fact. It helps me keep the flow of the story.  
  
Camellia Gamgee - Took - I'll be bringin' on the angst, certainly. There's Frodo angst, Merry and Sam angst, and even Bramby angst a-comin'!  
  
FrodoBaggins1982 - Great thoughts about what might be coming up for Frodo and Sam when all this is over. We can expect that there will be some barriers between them, whether they want them or not.  
  
Aelfgifu - We'll just see what Bramblethorn tries while Frodo is blindfolded! They'll have a short discussion in this chapter.  
  
Trust No One - Bramblethorn will be thinking about the situation in this chapter. He knows he's got himself in a difficult position regarding Frodo. Frodo and Sam will have a few things to work out between them after this, definitely.   
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Chapter 21 - Pondering the Future  
  
Bramblethorn sat by the fire in his study, chewing absently on the stem of his pipe. It had been a full day since he had left Frodo in the cellar, and he'd heard not a sound, not a single plea for release from his prisoner since.   
  
A full day. Bramblethorn shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He remembered that Frodo had been allowed some water to drink prior to his relocation to the cellar. He must be in desperate need of relief by now, and as much as Bramblethorn wanted to punish him for his defiance, it repelled him to think of leaving Frodo to soil himself.   
  
With a sigh he snuffed his pipe and drew the key to the cellar door from the pocket of his weskit. He made his way down the hall to the door and paused to listen before turning the key in the lock. Nothing.   
  
The door creaked open and a thin beam of light followed, illuminating the stairs enough to allow Bramblethorn to descend them safely. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he was able to make out the shape of Frodo lying motionless on the dirt floor in a corner of the room.   
  
"Are you there, Frodo?" Bramblethorn asked as he shook the bound hobbit by the shoulder.   
  
Frodo flinched at the touch and the sound of the voice in the otherwise silent room. Bramblethorn began to unbind his ankles and hands while issuing terse instructions. "Do not mistake this for a social call, Frodo," he said shortly. "I've come to grant you a small favor, but you must acknowledge it first." He leaned down close to Frodo and asked, "Do you feel the need to relieve yourself?"  
  
Frodo found his voice with difficulty. His whispered "Yes" was almost inaudible.   
  
"Very well. Make no attempt to remove the blindfold, love. You wouldn't want me to get angry, would you?" Frodo did not reply as Bramblethorn pulled him to his feet and guided him a few paces away from where he had been lying. He nearly fell as full circulation was briefly and painfully restored to his legs. Frodo reached out, groping in the darkness until his hands came into contact with the earthen wall of the cellar.   
  
"Make use of the freedom I've granted you," Bramblethorn ordered. "I'll not wait all day."  
  
Humiliation flooded through him and Frodo asked haltingly, "You mean - here? Now?"  
  
"This is no time to be prim, Frodo," Bramblethorn said sarcastically. "This is an earthen cellar. If a rat can relieve itself in a corner, so can you."  
  
Frodo caught his breath and tried to steady himself. It was true, he was extremely uncomfortable at the moment and desperately needed to do something about it, but it was horribly repellant to him to have to do it such a manner. Faced with no other possible choice, Frodo complied.   
  
When Frodo finished, Bramblethorn grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around. He guided Frodo back to the place where he had lain and began to bind him again. "Before I leave you again, do you have anything to say?" Bramblethorn pressed. "An apology, perhaps?"  
  
"I'll not apologize for defending myself against you," Frodo said flatly.   
  
"You may as well apologize," Bramblethorn replied as he knotted the rope around Frodo's wrists. "You can't win. You know that I will wear you down until you no longer attempt to resist or defy me. How long will it take, I wonder?"  
  
"More time than you have," Frodo replied. His tone was not as firm as he had hoped it would be.   
  
"I have as much time as I choose," Bramblethorn informed him. "I'm still weighing the question of whether I am ready to give you up."  
  
Frodo's heart froze at the sound of those words. In the darkness of the cellar, despite his hunger, thirst and pain, he had been clinging to the hope that his ordeal would soon end. It had to! Merry and Sam would obtain the ransom and Bramblethorn would have to free him!  
  
"You must," Frodo protested anxiously. "When you have the ransom you must let me go!"  
  
"Must I, dear?" Bramblethorn adopted the gently teasing tone Frodo had come to associate with dire things ahead. "But suppose they cannot pay? What if they violate the terms of our agreement, thus rendering it meaningless? If that happens, your attitude must be improved, love. I shouldn't like to spend all of our future time together so disagreeably."  
  
"We shall have no future together," Frodo vowed softly. "Merry and Sam will not break their word. Only you would do such a thing."  
  
"Such comments could earn you the back of my hand against your lovely face, were my mood less forgiving," Bramblethorn answered as he stood and made ready to leave Frodo to the darkness once more. He paused as he began to ascend the stairs. "I shall give you one more chance, Frodo. If you ask me to forgive you for your latest outburst, I shall. I shall untie you and you may come back upstairs."   
  
"And what awaits me there?" Frodo asked morosely. "When I'm here, at least I'm free of unwanted attention from you or anyone else."  
  
"That can be changed, you know," Bramblethorn crowed haughtily. "I just may decide to keep you company here for a while, my love. What a wonderfully private place this cellar makes." Bramblethorn's tone became suggestive. "Should I keep you bound while I enjoy you, or should I free you so that you might offer me some sport?"  
  
"There are no words to describe how much I hate you," Frodo hissed into the darkness. "You simply cannot see it, can you? You told me that I cannot win, but in truth, neither can you."  
  
Bramblethorn laughed scornfully. "An astute observation, I must say, especially since I am not the one lying bound in a dark cellar." He turned and continued his ascent to the top of the staircase and Frodo heard the door slam.   
  
He exhaled in relief. Bramblethorn had clearly meant Frodo's confinement in the cellar to be a punishment, but Frodo had been entirely truthful when he had said he was somewhat glad of the solitude. His bonds chafed him and his muscles cried out in protest at being stilled in the same position for hours at a time. Even so, his mind welcomed the absence of the abject terror Bramblethorn's constant presence forced upon him.   
  
Bramblethorn had made a terrible threat moments before, but he had not acted upon it, Frodo realized. It was terribly unnerving the way his captor seemed to waver between gleeful cruelty and hesitation. In the moments when Frodo's thoughts turned to darker things, he almost wished that Bramblethorn would simply kill him outright and stop toying with him endlessly. The thought of being trapped with Bramblethorn for much longer would cause him to go mad, Frodo thought as he shifted the weight off his numbed shoulder.  
  
Frodo tried to relax and to think of anyone but Bramblethorn, any place but where he was. Eventually sleep overcame him and the hours passed him by unheeded.  
  
~*~ On the road to Bree ~*~  
  
It was late afternoon and they had been traveling for nearly a day and a half, stopping only for meals and to give the poor ponies food and what rest could be afforded them. In his peripheral vision Sam caught sight of Merry nodding in the seat of the wagon, the reins threatening to drop from his hands. The ponies had noticed the lack of attention that was being given to their pace, and they slowed accordingly.   
  
"Mr. Merry," Sam said, nudging the other hobbit lightly. "Mr. Merry, I'll drive for a while if you want."  
  
Merry snapped to attention again, attempting to cover his lapse. "There's no need, Sam," he protested with forced briskness. "I'm quite all right."  
  
"Like father, like son," Merimac quipped from behind them. "Stubborn as - "  
  
"Oh, not you too, Uncle Mac!" Merry groaned as opposition mounted.  
  
"Oh, yes, you young imp. You're no more invincible than any of us here, and unless I miss my guess, you'll need your energy ere we reach Bree." For once Merimac did not hear Saradoc's voice rising to contradict his statement.   
  
"He's right, Mr. Merry," Sam pressed. "Take some rest an' let me take the reins for a while."  
  
Merry sighed, defeated. "All right, Sam. You win." He stopped the wagon and traded places with Sam. "It feels like we've been traveling forever," he remarked wearily.  
  
"We've not more than another day at most, if we keep up the pace as we have," Sam said, trying to encourage his companion.   
  
"The ponies have borne it well," Merry remarked as Sam urged them forward again. "I doubt they shall ever forgive us for driving them in such fashion."  
  
Sam watched the ponies as they plodded along and a faint smile came to his face. "Don't be so sure, Mr. Merry," he answered nodding at the team he drove. "They've still got spirit to their step, they have. Why, it's almost as if they're in as big a hurry as we are, somehow."   
  
Perhaps the urgency of the two - legged members of the party had indeed been communicated somehow to the ponies. They didn't seem to mind the steady pace, moving on hour by hour and asking little more than a few moments to munch on some hay and enjoy a scratch behind the ears.   
  
When Merry didn't reply to Sam's musings, Sam turned his head to see that Merry had already fallen asleep, sitting upright in the seat of the wagon. Sam sighed and settled in for the rest of the journey. He had recognized landmarks along the way, and he knew the Bree Gate was still a distance away. Come nightfall, the entire party would stop to rest for a few hours, more for the sake of the ponies than anything else. Then, on to Bree, Sam thought grimly. On to Bree, and Bramblethorn.  
  
Sam wasn't at all certain of what the future would bring, but he knew one thing. He was not leaving Bree without Frodo. Let Bramblethorn posture and threaten, let him try what he would, but Sam vowed not to be deterred. Little rest would he find until once again he held Frodo in a comforting embrace and knew him to be safe, alive and whole.   
  
~*~  
  
Bramblethorn tapped the quill against the blotter on his writing desk as he considered the blank page before him. Frodo's companions would soon be bringing the ransom and payment for the grain, he felt certain. It was time to instruct them as to the place and time of the proposed exchange and what was demanded of them. He would send the completed message to the inn as soon as he received word that Sam and Merry had indeed returned.   
  
The meeting must take place somewhere rather secluded but still somewhat close by. The location where Bramblethorn had stored the supply of grain was out of the question. The walls of the large wooden barn would provide cover, but they would also prevent easy escape if something should go wrong. Bramblethorn reached a decision and scratched out a few sentences on the page.   
  
Of course, Frodo's cousin and his gardener must be warned to come alone. If there were any sign of the presence of others nearby, the transaction would be refused. Bramblethorn kept writing.   
  
The time of the proposed exchange must be after nightfall, preferably very late. Bramblethorn smiled as he thought of how weary Frodo's compatriots would be after their hasty journey. Another thing that would work to his advantage, he surmised. But when would they reach Bree? The inn must be watched starting at dawn the next day, he decided.   
  
A sudden sorrow stole over him as his hand and the quill hovered over the page. If he did indeed keep his word, he must concede defeat and release Frodo very soon, he realized. Had Frodo been right to say that the game could not be won? It was true that he would be made quite wealthy when all was said and done, but what consolation would gold be to him when he no longer had his heart's desire?   
  
Bramblethorn rubbed his brow and laid the quill down on the blotter. His gaze roved around the room and fell upon the window where the last rays of light filtered in to mark the end of the day. He rose and lit a fire at the hearth, poured himself a brandy and seated himself in the comfortable chair nearby. Another chair stood empty next to it, and Bramblethorn stared at it, seeing Frodo there in his mind's eye. He had been there, hadn't he, only a few nights ago?   
  
Choices. No matter the circumstances, there were always choices to be made, Bramblethorn thought. He stared into the fire contemplating the choices that he would have to make in no more than a day, perhaps two. It had been a good game, all things considered, but it wasn't over yet. There was still one final move to be made, one that would undoubtedly change the course of his life for all time to come.   
  
The fire crackled cheerfully, in contrast to the mood of the one who sat alone before it. Alone, thought Brambthorn. He had banished Frodo to solitary confinement in the cellar, but was he not similarly confined himself? No bonds secured Bramblethorn's hands, but what of those that bound his heart? Was he not as much a prisoner as Frodo, when it came down to it?   
  
Bramblethorn sat before the fire, brooding long into the night. In the dark of the cellar, Frodo escaped into sleep and what dreams he could find to comfort him. Miles away, but drawing nearer, five hobbits grudgingly gave themselves over to their weariness and rested near the road that would lead them to their destination, and ultimately to a confrontation they both dreaded and awaited with eager anticipation.   
  
~*~ To be continued ~*~ 


	23. Coming Together

Iorhael - You can't stop reading because, just like me, you want to see the happy ending that must surely come sooner or later. Bramblethorn hurt Frodo because he wasn't gentle, but it wasn't Frodo's first time, thankfully. It was certainly very humiliating what Bramby did to Frodo in the cellar. All part of his evil plan.   
  
Trust No One - Bramby has yet more nasty tricks ahead. Frodo did score a point when he told Bramblethorn he couldn't win. Bramby didn't want to hear that. You'll see what Bramblethorn decides to do and why it would change his life.  
  
Monet - Thank you for coming by and for following the entire series. I never envisioned so many stories coming from the idea that spawned "In Safekeeping", but thousands of words later, here I am! There will be some comfort coming and Sam will have a lot to do with it.  
  
Breon Briarwood - Any thought of Bramblethorn coming to his senses is, as you said, a dream. And Bramby has dreams of his own.  
  
Stephanie - Bramblethorn won't be easy to get rid of, I'm afraid. He won't go away on his own, that's certain. He won't give Frodo up without a fight, that's true.   
  
Shelbyshire - I try to update every couple of days or so, in between work and everything else. Sorry to make you wait! I'm flattered that you're enjoying the story enough to anticipate each chapter.  
  
Spootasia Tomoe - Yes, more snarky comments ahead, certainly. Bramblethorn is the snarkiest! I don't know how I manage to come out sane after getting into that creature's head. Must be some sort of twisted therapy or something.  
  
Endymion2 - Bramblethorn is starting to unravel under the stress, isn't he? More and more, he just doesn't know what to do to bring Frodo to him. Frodo won that round with his reminding Bramblethorn that true victory was impossible. Bramblethorn will have to pull himself together or he will be defeated by the forces of good that intend to descend upon him.  
  
Camellia Gamgee - Took - The confrontation is coming soon, definitely. I have not read the story you describe, but there could be parallels between the characters. That is Bramblethorn's tragedy, that he is not entirely unfeeling.   
  
Anarie - I haven't heard the song by Queen, but I'll have to find it and listen. Bramblethorn has one final move to try on Frodo and he'll do it soon.  
  
The Lady of Mirkwood - Glad you're enjoying the story! Your idea is even angstier than mine, I think. Sooner or later we'll have to help Frodo or he'll be a mess for life!  
  
GamgeeFest - Bramblethorn isn't likely to leave Frodo alone until his time is up, as you'll see in this chapter. Poor Frodo. It is Bramblethorn's fault that Frodo can't care for him. He's just too selfish and nasty. He is slipping a bit, underestimating Frodo. He shouldn't! Reunion is coming in the next few chapters.  
  
Hobbitfeet13 - Sam is an optimistic hobbit, and he will need his optimism to help Frodo after all this.  
  
Sam - I haven't been to the website you mention, but it might be fun! I'll try to check out the challenge there. Maybe it will spark something in my imagination too!  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
Chapter 22 - Coming Together  
  
Bramblethorn woke as the morning sun shone into the study through the window. He had fallen asleep by the fire, and an empty brandy glass stood on the table beside his chair. He scrubbed a hand across his face wearily and tried to focus on the things that must be done soon.   
  
He must send Anson to watch the inn starting that very afternoon, he surmised. As soon as he had word that Frodo's companions had returned, he would send the letter containing his instructions for their next, most critical meeting. He had already decided that the meeting was to take place the next night, provided Brandybuck and the gardener reached Bree in due time. All there was to do now was wait, just wait and consider.  
  
Bramblethorn considered Frodo. It was time Frodo at least had something to drink. He rose from his chair and made his way into the kitchen to prepare some mild herbal tea. It would not be much of a breakfast for his prisoner, but it would serve the purpose. The tea steeped and Bramblethorn stewed.  
  
He had already decided what he would say to Brandybuck and the gardener when he saw them again. He could just imagine the looks on their faces when he told them. When the tea was ready, Bramblethorn prepared a tray with tea service and placed a lit candle on the tray as well.   
  
Bramblethorn carefully negotiated the cellar stairs and set the tray on the floor near where Frodo lay still and silent. Frodo barely moved as Bramblethorn lifted the blindfold from his eyes. "Wake up, love," Bramblethorn cajoled. "I've tea for you, Frodo."   
  
Frodo opened his eyes and squinted into the dim light. "H - how long have I - "  
  
"You have been here almost two days, my dear," Bramblethorn answered the half - finished question. "Sit up now, and have some tea." He propped Frodo up in his arms and held the cup to his lips.   
  
Frodo sipped the tea gingerly, but it tasted of herbs and nothing more. The sharp pangs of hunger had faded into a dull omnipresent ache, and even if Bramblethorn had brought him food, Frodo was unsure whether his stomach would accept it. The tea was bitter and unsweetened, but it revived him somewhat.   
  
"Two days, Frodo," Bramblethorn said again. "Your stubbornness and your resilience are astonishing."  
  
"Why are you here?" Frodo asked flatly. Bramblethorn could have no purpose for the visit beyond adding to his torment.   
  
"I missed you, love," Bramblethorn answered calmly. "Will you not ease the emptiness of my arms and the aching of my heart?"  
  
"You know very well I shall not," Frodo told him weakly.   
  
Bramblethorn raised the teacup to Frodo's lips again. He spoke as if he had not even heard Frodo's denial. "Are you tired of this cold, dark place, Frodo?"  
  
"Of course I am!" Frodo's retort sounded thin and ragged, edged with weary frustration.   
  
"Then I shall allow you to choose, and I shall give you time to decide." Bramblethorn put the teacup down and wrapped both arms firmly around Frodo. "When I next come to visit you, you may either agree to take my hand and allow me to lead you from this cellar to a more comfortable place where we may have some quality time together, or I shall join you here. Either way, you are mine, love."   
  
Tears were gathering in Frodo's eyes. "You offer me no choice, Bramblethorn. Either way, I am to be coerced. You will take from me what I will not give you voluntarily and I shall have no pleasure in it."  
  
"It need not be as you describe, love," Bramblethorn informed him. "If you should decide to accept my attentions, I promise to make it enjoyable for you. Your body will respond, my dear. It responded the last time, if you remember."  
  
Frodo's breath caught at the mention of the previous assault. He didn't want to remember! He had been helpless and horrified, and any response his body had made had been wholly involuntary. "I won't discuss this any further!" he gasped. "Take your hands off me! Take your tea and go," Frodo demanded stubbornly.   
  
"Very well, Frodo," Bramblethorn replied. "But remember the choice I gave you. We shall be together again, you and I, and you must decide where. You must decide if you are to know pleasure or pain. Think about it for a while, hmmmm?"  
  
Frodo remained silent as Bramblethorn blindfolded him and eased him down to lie upon the cellar floor once again. There had never been a more welcome sound than that of Bramblethorn's foot falls retreating up the stairs.   
  
~*~ Late the same night ~*~  
  
The wagon rattled through the Bree Gate and over the cobblestones as Saradoc drove the team of ponies toward the inn. He could see the lights of lanterns ahead as he and the other hobbits approached. When he reached the entrance to the yard and stables, he halted the wagon and roused his companions. "We've arrived, everyone."  
  
The hobbits alit from the wagon and began to grab packs and other supplies. The sound of footsteps startled them and they looked up to see two men striding toward them. Merry cleared his throat and attempted a proper greeting. "Hello, sirs," he said to the innkeeper and the other man. "Please forgive us for our unannounced departure. As you can see, we have returned and we fully intend to pay you for our lodging."  
  
The innkeeper turned a stern gaze upon Merry and the other hobbits. "Well that's a good thing, friend. I confess I'd thought not to see you again."   
  
Merry blushed as Saradoc extended his hand to politely shake that of the innkeeper. "Thank you for your understanding, sir. There's been a bit of an emergency, and my son had to leave for a few days unexpectedly."  
  
Darien spoke casually as he surveyed the party of hobbits. "After you've settled yourselves, I think we should speak with one another regarding this 'emergency' you mention."  
  
Sam and Merry both paled and alarm showed clearly on their faces. Who was this man, and why did he wish to know about their trouble? "We mean no disrespect, sir, but we would rather not discuss that matter."  
  
Darien smiled at Merry. "I didn't think you would be pleased at such a prospect, I admit. However, I believe it would be in your best interests to speak with us." He gestured to the innkeeper, who produced an envelope addressed to Merry and Sam.   
  
"This came for you while you were away," he said gruffly as Merry reluctantly took the message from his hand. The hobbit made no move to open the message and peruse its contents.   
  
"I think you should read that," Darien suggested. "Now, before all else."  
  
Merry looked at Sam, then at his father. Merimac and Ned stood behind him, looking at the two men with mild distrust. Saradoc noted the apparent concern in Darien's tone and nodded at Merry. "Go ahead, lad. See what it says."  
  
Merry opened the message slowly and his jaw dropped as he read. When he looked up again, his eyes were wide and filled with tears. Sam was in a similar state, and the elder hobbits were frowning in anger and dismay. Merimac cursed audibly and no one bothered to reprimand him.   
  
"Your missing companion is in grave peril, is he not?" Darien said gently.   
  
"You know, then," Merry said, not meeting Darien's sharp gaze. "How?"  
  
"When you failed to reappear after a couple of days," Darien began, gesturing at the innkeeper, "my friend Eldon here inquired as to his rights to any abandoned property. He made a quick survey of your quarters to see if you'd left any clues to indicate your whereabouts or the likelihood of your return. He found the other messages you've received."  
  
Sam looked at both men with a deepening distrust in his eyes. "Who are you, then, if I may ask, sir?"  
  
Darien regarded Sam patiently. "My name is Darien. I am one of the Keepers of the Peace in Bree. There are few of us, but we do our best to ensure that the folk of Bree are kept safe from harm and that those who commit acts against them are duly punished."   
  
"If we've done anything wrong, we're sorry, sir," Sam said with some trepidation.   
  
A genuine smile crossed the lawman's face as he regarded the nervous hobbit before him. "Fear not, good fellow. As long as you make proper payment to my friend for the lodging he has provided for you, you'll have naught to fear from me or mine."   
  
Merry suddenly gasped and turned to face Sam. "Sam! The money we brought to pay for our room and the grain! I left it in our room when we - "  
  
"Not to worry, Mr. Merry," Sam soothed. "I've had it with me, here in my pack. I grabbed it when I followed you that night."  
  
Merry looked greatly relieved. "I should have known you'd be thinking of such things, Sam." It would have been disastrous if anyone had stolen the money from their room.   
  
"I suggest we get these ponies stabled and continue our conversation in a more private location," Darien said, glancing around the darkened yard. "I wish to know more about your captured companion and this fellow who holds him."   
  
"Do you think you can help us?" Merry asked. "We've feared to ask for assistance, as we believe it will further endanger Frodo."  
  
"The situation is indeed complicated," Darien admitted. "Such things usually are. But come, let us not remain here any longer. Once you are settled for the night, we will discuss your troubles further."  
  
Darien turned and strode away, re - entering the inn by way of the back door. Saradoc watched him go. "I dislike the idea of involving the Big Folk in the affairs of hobbits, but this is not the Shire, after all," Saradoc admitted. "He seems trustworthy, and perhaps he can help us."  
  
Merry looked sorrowful. "I should have asked for help long ago, the moment Frodo was taken," he berated himself. "Perhaps if I had - "  
  
"Nonsense, lad," Merimac said, squeezing Merry's shoulder. "You had good reason to hesitate if you've been receiving such dire threats all this while." He gestured to the message Merry still clutched in his hand. "Imagine, the gall of that creature, writing something like that, and in Frodo's blood of all things!"  
  
Sam turned away and choked back a sob.   
  
"Mac!" Saradoc hissed. "Enough."  
  
"Forgive me, Master Samwise," Mac said apologetically. "My mouth gets the better of my mind when I'm angered, I fear."   
  
Sam regained his composure and faced Merimac grimly. "It's all right, sir. I understand."  
  
"Let's get ourselves sorted out," Ned said, finally speaking up. "That fellow was right. This ain't no place for such talk."  
  
Nods of agreement followed Ned's statement and the hobbits set about gathering their supplies and assisting the innkeeper with the stabling of the ponies.   
  
~*~  
  
Anson stepped quietly from the concealing shadows as the other hobbits entered the barn. Frodo's companions had returned and with three other hobbits! It also appeared that they were speaking with the Big Folk about the situation, which could make for big trouble.   
  
The boss had better know about this, and now, he thought as he made his way from the inn. Maybe Monto was right. This whole thing was getting more and more dangerous all the time. If Brandybuck and Frodo's gardener brought those other hobbits and any Big Folk with them when they showed up to pay the ransom, the result could be disastrous.  
  
When he reached the hills above the village and Bramblethorn's smial, he entered quietly and made his way immediately to the study. Bramblethorn was there, puffing on his pipe and considering the instructions for the meeting with Merry and Sam.   
  
"Boss, I think we've got trouble," Anson said gravely. "Them two hobbits are back, and they've brought three more with 'em."  
  
"Have they now?" Bramblethorn said with a frown. "Go on."  
  
"I saw them talkin' with that innkeeper and another of the Big Folk, who happens to be one of them Keepers of the Peace."  
  
Bramblethorn's frown deepened. It seemed likely that the lawman and the innkeeper were not merely curious, but were informed of the situation. "This isn't good," he confirmed. "It seems they are choosing not to heed my previous warnings. I will warn them anew in my next message, and I will give them specific instructions regarding our meeting."  
  
"When are we going to do it?" Anson asked, referring to the exchange of the grain and Frodo for the large sum Bramblethorn had demanded.   
  
"I shall wait out the remainder of tonight and through the day tomorrow. After nightfall we shall meet, after midnight," Bramblethorn answered. "Thank you for your timely news, my friend. Tomorrow morning I want you to deliver my message to the inn. They know you there now, so I want you to take it to a courier rather than doing it in person."  
  
Anson nodded and left the room when Bramblethorn gave him no more instructions. Bramblethorn wadded up the message he had begun the night before and started over, making the message as stern and threatening as possible. If Brandybuck failed to heed his demands and come to the meeting with any others besides Frodo's gardener in tow, he would be made to regret it.   
  
~*~   
  
The room was as far away from the bustle of the common room as possible, and was warmed by a crackling fire. Five hobbits and two men were gathered there, having an earnest discussion in low tones.   
  
"When the harvest failed, we knew we had to take what measures we could to ensure that our people wouldn't go hungry through the winter," Saradoc explained.   
  
"But there ain't no supply of grain that size to be had here in Bree," the innkeeper protested. "Why I can't get but enough to make half the bread I need, and it costs me right dear, it does."  
  
Merry's eyes darkened with anger as he spoke. "Oh there is grain in Bree, sir. Bramblethorn is hoarding it. He's to blame for the shortage you describe and for the terrible prices you're forced to pay."  
  
The innkeeper gaped at the hobbit in shock, and Darien's eyebrow quirked upward at the news. "And so you will have to buy it from him if you want it, and you will be forced to pay a high price, will you not?"  
  
Merry nodded. "And to ensure that we do agree to purchase from him, Bramblethorn has taken Frodo prisoner. He will not release him until we make payment for the grain and he is demanding a large ransom for him as well!"  
  
"These are very serious misdeeds indeed," Darien said gravely. "He must be punished, of course."  
  
"That would be quite all right with us," Saradoc confirmed, "but what we are most concerned with is Frodo."  
  
"Of course," Darien said, nodding. "This Bramblethorn fellow does not seem unaccustomed to achieving his ends through violent means, it seems."  
  
"No, it troubles him not at all to harm someone else," Sam said quietly. "He's hurt Mr. Frodo before, and I'm so very frightened that he has again."  
  
"If that letter is truly written in blood, it may be so," Darien agreed quietly. "Frodo's captor is likely aware that you have returned and will attempt to contact you again. When he does, we must plan our next move carefully."  
  
"As much as I'd like to see that horrid creature who holds him hanging by his neck from a sturdy branch, I'll not be party to anything that places Frodo in further danger," Merimac said firmly. "I know it's your concern that the guilty be held accountable for their deeds, but all we really want is Frodo."  
  
"Yes, I understand," Darien replied. "Frodo's safe return is of the greatest importance to me as well, although Bramblethorn is clearly an enemy of the people and must be dealt with eventually."   
  
"So we wait, then," Saradoc said, looking from one of his companions to the next.   
  
"Yes. As soon as you receive word from the kidnapper, come and tell me. I shall remain nearby." Darien said, rising from the table. "Thank you for your assistance in this matter, Eldon," he said to the innkeeper. "You were right to bring these events to my attention, and I'm very glad that you have."  
  
"I'm glad to oblige, friend," the innkeeper replied, "especially now that I know the reason why I can't get bread for my guests."   
  
The hobbits returned quietly to their rooms to rest and ponder the events to come. The innkeeper returned to his duties, while Darien settled in to watch the common room for any sign of a messenger.  
  
~*~ To be continued ~*~ 


	24. Compliance and Defiance

FrodoBaggins1982 - You'll see in this chapter whether Frodo will agree or not! Ahh, the arrogance of Big Folk, eh? Assuming it's safe to talk in a seemingly empty stable yard to a bunch of hobbits. They're hobbits, after all and hobbits don't cause much trouble do they? Yeah, right, big fella! Darien will know better after all this! Bramblethorn is to be pitied as much as loathed and, if possible, avoided.  
  
Endymion2 - Don't worry, there will be plenty of volatile emotion coming up. Bramblethorn did lose valuable time and opportunity due to his inner conflict. If he could switch off the part that truly cares for Frodo and doesn't want him to be utterly destroyed, he'd have certainly had his way again by now.  
  
Trust No One - Darien hasn't got a dark side to show us in this story. Frodo needs some allies, after all! Sam will recover his balance when it comes to the all important task of caring for Frodo. Frodo will have to choose, but I'm hoping his choice will surprise you. The fact that Frodo did, in some ways, inadvertently respond to Bramblethorn does make him feel even worse. It makes him feel more helpless and of less worth.  
  
GamgeeFest - Darien shouldn't be so complacent regarding hobbits, should he? Just because he's never seen them make trouble before doesn't mean they're not capable of it. He is making a mistake in underestimating them! You can bet he won't when all this is over. Merry really was in a spot over whether to seek help. The fact that he is a hobbit of the Shire had something to do with him not going to the Big Folk, definitely. Bramblethorn is insanely jealous of Sam and hates him all the more for it. He will finally address them by name in his last message to them, though.   
  
The Lady of Mirkwood - Some chances will be taken regarding helping Frodo. Bramblethorn is treacherous, and if Sam and Merry do go alone, they risk being hurt and losing Frodo forever.   
  
Stephanie - Bramblethorn is conflicted about what to do regarding Frodo, but he'll make a decision, for better or worse. And he will have some things to say to Merry and Sam that will be anything but nice!   
  
Shelbyshire - This story has been a complicated web to weave, believe me. I think Shelob has the advantage when it comes to webs!  
  
Lovethosehobbits - I'm glad you like the story. It took a few months to write and a lot of hard thinking! There are more chapters to come before the end.   
  
Breon Briarwood - The calm before the storm is definitely nearing its end.  
  
Hobbitfeet13 - Bramblethorn is somewhat unnerved by the Big Folk getting involved, but his ego is overriding it. He sees them as loud, clumsy and easy to dupe and cheat. We won't see Pip until the last couple of chapters, but he will provide comfort to Frodo in his innocent way at that time.  
  
Spootasia Tomoe - If there's a fight, Monto and Anson will certainly stand for themselves if not for Bramblethorn.   
  
Anarie - Bramblethorn is maybe 12 years older than Frodo or thereabouts. He was just out of his tweens when Frodo arrived in Hobbiton.   
  
Aratlithiel1 - Darien will be a big help to the hobbits, but perhaps not entirely in the way he intends. More to come!  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Chapter 23 - Compliance and Defiance  
  
Frodo lay in the darkness, attempting to gather his courage. Bramblethorn would surely return soon and would expect to know what Frodo had chosen. He hoped that he would be able to manage the situation as he'd planned. One thing was certain, he could not bear to go without food for very much longer.   
  
As if in response to his thoughts, the door at the top of the stairs creaked open and the sound of soft footsteps reached Frodo's ears. Bramblethorn had arrived as promised and stood over Frodo with a candle in his hand. "Good evening, Frodo," he said calmly as he placed the candle on the floor and knelt by Frodo's side. "You must answer me now, love. What have you chosen?"  
  
Frodo's tone was low, sounding humbled and defeated. "I cannot bear this any longer. I will go with you. I will do as you bid me, if only to escape this torment."   
  
Bramblethorn was elated. He had won at last! "I'm very glad to hear you say so, my dear, for it has pained me greatly to treat you so." He stroked Frodo's hair gently and removed the blindfold. "Let us leave this room now, together."   
  
Bramblethorn released Frodo from his bonds and held him while Frodo gathered his strength to rise to his feet. "Please, I must have something to eat before we - before anything else."  
  
"Of course, love," Bramblethorn replied, continuing the gentle movement of his fingers through the curls at Frodo's brow. "I shall have something prepared for you. Would you like to bathe as well?" There were smudges of dirt on Frodo's face from the cellar floor and he looked quite bedraggled.   
  
"I should like that very much," Frodo replied as Bramblethorn helped him to his feet. He wavered unsteadily as his muscles protested their awakening. A wave of dizziness overtook him and Bramblethorn held him upright as he guided him to the stairs.   
  
"You see, Frodo? All you had to do was to make the right choice, the sensible choice, and now your torment is ended. I shall give you all the care and kindness I am able to give." Bramblethorn seemed to be suiting action to words as he gently helped Frodo to ascend the stairs and make his way down the hallway.   
  
Bramblethorn sent Monto to prepare the bath while he brought Frodo into the kitchen and seated him at the table. Before long, hot soup steamed in a bowl and fresh baked bread was sliced and buttered. Frodo tried to eat slowly to keep his stomach from rejecting the offering. He fancied he could almost feel more of his strength returning with every bite of the bread and every spoonful of soup.   
  
"How did you finally arrive at your decision, Frodo?" Bramblethorn asked as he watched the hungry hobbit eat.   
  
"I'm tired of being hurt," Frodo said truthfully. "I still don't want this, but if you will promise not to hurt me, I shall attempt to bear it."  
  
"You could grow to appreciate me," Bramblethorn suggested. "Given time, of course."  
  
"We shall not have time," Frodo said simply. "You asked me to give myself to you just once, and I shall so that I should be returned to Merry and Sam alive, if not undamaged."  
  
Bramblethorn did not make any comment regarding returning Frodo to his companions. "Your bath should be ready now," he said as he helped Frodo up from the table. Having eaten all he could manage, Frodo allowed Bramblethorn to guide him toward the room where the large tub again awaited him. "I shall wait for you, dear, and when you have finished, we shall retire to my room and please each other properly."  
  
Alone in the room, Frodo leaned with his back against the door. So far he had managed to maintain his composure, but he was growing more apprehensive by the moment. He hoped that he could do what he must without breaking down completely.   
  
He washed slowly, letting the hot water calm and soothe him. He pondered his course of action as he scrubbed. Yes, he had made the only choice he possibly could. It was inevitable, an unavoidable part of a battle of wills that would otherwise have consumed him, and still might, if the truth be known.  
  
Frodo dried himself and reached for the clean shirt Bramblethorn had left for him. A pair of breeches lay beside it, a little too large in the hips and waist, but not impossibly so. Frodo gazed at his reflection in the mirror. He looked much like his old self, but bruises still showed on his face and there were dark circles under his eyes. He set his jaw grimly and prepared himself to face his dread and fear.   
  
"Ahhh, you are a vision," Bramblethorn complimented as Frodo emerged into the hallway. Bramblethorn took Frodo's hand and gently began to lead him. "I considered leaving you only a robe to wear, but I should like the opportunity to take those clothes off you myself."   
  
Bramblethorn ushered Frodo into his room and closed the door behind him. Frodo walked to the window and looked out, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. A moment later he felt Bramblethorn massaging his neck, and then a light kiss behind one ear. "I shall not hurt you," Bramblethorn promised. "I shall be gentle. Relax and let me touch you."  
  
Frodo let his head fall back, eyes closed, as Bramblethorn stood behind him and embraced him. His heart began to beat harder in his chest as hands wandered lightly over his body. Bramblethorn trailed kisses over Frodo's neck as he slowly unfastened each shirt button. Frodo attempted to concentrate on counting the seconds as they passed, willing himself to remain strong.   
  
"Mmmmm, so nice," Bramblethorn purred as he pulled the shirt aside to expose Frodo's shoulder. Now Bramblethorn turned Frodo to face him and pulled him close, kissing him deeply and passionately. Bramblethorn's growing arousal was obvious now, and Frodo knew he dared not wait much longer.   
  
Frodo reached out and placed his hands on Bramblethorn's waist. While his right lingered there, his left, the least injured, moved slowly toward Bramblethorn's groin.   
  
"I knew you would enjoy it if you only stopped fighting me," Bramblethorn breathed. "Ohhh, Frodo - "  
  
Through the fabric of Bramblethorn's breeches, Frodo's fingers found their goal. He rubbed his hand slowly over the area, eliciting a groan of pleasure from Bramblethorn. Carefully, Frodo cupped his hand around the sensitive area - and squeezed. Hard.   
  
Bramblethorn's howl of agony reverberated off the walls of the room and Frodo leapt away as Bramblethorn fell writhing to the floor. Frodo backed away toward the door, watching to see if the other hobbit would be able to rise and come after him. He had tried to cause as much pain as he could, in order to dissuade Bramblethorn from making any further attempts on him for the time being. If escape were not possible, at least Bramblethorn would be in too much discomfort to force himself on Frodo again, for a day or so at any rate. Frodo hastily refastened the buttons of his shirt.  
  
Frodo heard the door open behind him, and he knew he was trapped. Monto grabbed him and slammed him into the wall as Bramblethorn gasped from across the room. "Treacherous fool! You shall pay, I promise you!" To Monto he said, "Tie him up!" Fury warred with pain in Bramblethorn's expression.   
  
Frodo neither spoke nor cried out as Monto dragged him out of the room and back toward the cellar. In the dim underground chamber, Monto beat and bound Frodo quite thoroughly. Frodo bore the punishment with a weary resignation, never once pleading for mercy or crying out. It was as if he acknowledged that he deserved it this time, but would not have taken different action if given the opportunity.  
  
Bramblethorn managed to regain his feet with Monto's help. He stood, but still was bent nearly double, groaning at the terrible ache in his groin and abdomen. Any hope he held of taking his pleasure with Frodo in the near future evaporated in a haze of pain. Bramblethorn hoped no permanent damage had been done.   
  
He lay on the bed with one hand at his abused testicles and the other curled into a fist by his side. "He dared to lie to me!" Bramblethorn growled. "He caused me to believe that he was finally willing to concede the game, only to attack me!"  
  
"He's not gonna be attacking anyone for a while," Monto assured his employer. "I've got him trussed up tight in the cellar, boss. I had to knock him around a bit, too, you understand."  
  
Bramblethorn gave Monto a grim little smile of approval. "I'll not fault you or your methods," he told his henchman. "Let him lie there in the dirt until our meeting with his dear cousin and gardener. I want him to suffer as much as possible until then."  
  
As it was, Frodo was not suffering just yet. He was unconscious, knocked out by a blow from Monto's meaty fist. Monto had made sure to bind him securely, making certain he would be quite uncomfortable when he came to.   
  
Bramblethorn had Monto prepare some of his sedative - laced tea and he drank it to ease his discomfort. He fell asleep eventually, his mind and body numbed by the drug.  
  
~*~ Morning ~*~  
  
A teenage lad walked up to the front desk of the inn and rang the bell. He waited quietly until the innkeeper appeared.   
  
"What can I do for you, young fellow?" the innkeeper asked idly.   
  
"Courier, sir," the boy responded. "I've a message for one of your guests." He held out the envelope.   
  
The innkeeper took it and tried to hide the twinge of excitement he felt as he looked at the name of the intended recipient. It was for the hobbit Brandybuck, and written in the same hand as the previous messages. "Thank you, lad," the man said to the young courier and pressed a coin into his hand. He waved an employee over to watch the desk as he went in search of Darien.  
  
The lawman was sitting in the corner, smoking a pipe and calmly watching the patrons come and go through the common room. "Yes, Eldon, what is it?" he said, looking up at the anxious innkeeper.   
  
"I think this is what you've been waiting for," he said, handing the message to Darien.   
  
"Very good, Eldon. Thank you, friend. I shall find Master Brandybuck and his compatriots and we shall see what is required of them." Darien rose from the table and exited the room, heading for the rooms the hobbits occupied. He rapped smartly on the door of the first room and waited.   
  
Merry opened the door just a crack and peered out cautiously. When he saw Darien there, he opened the door wide. "What is it? Do you have something?"  
  
"I may at that. This just arrived by courier. Whoever sent it did not wish it delivered by anyone who might be recognized." Darien handed the message to Merry and turned to knock on the door of the adjacent room to rouse the rest of the party and summon them to meet.   
  
As soon as all the hobbits were assembled in the same room, Darien gestured to the note in Merry's hand. "Please read it aloud, Master Meriadoc."  
  
Merry tore the envelope open with trembling hands. He unfolded the page and began to read.   
  
"My dear Meriadoc and Samwise,"  
  
"Word has reached me that you have left Bree but have now returned, in the company of three more of your Buckland kin or friends. Allow me to remind you that you are to come alone to deliver payment. If you disregard any of the instructions herein, you can expect dire consequences, particularly for Frodo."  
  
"After midnight tomorrow, you are to come to the location I have specified. A map has been provided on the back of this letter. You are to bring a wagon to carry the grain you will purchase and you are to bring full payment for the grain and Frodo."   
  
"I also have reason to believe that you are considering asking the assistance of certain of the Big Folk in this matter. I must warn you against such action, as it will surely result in the transaction being canceled. If you want to see Frodo again, you will comply with these instructions to the very letter. Remember, my lads will be there as well, and their blades are sharp and ready. "  
  
"Kindest regards,   
  
Rushford Bramblethorn."  
  
"Kindest regards, my - " Merimac began, but was silenced by a jab in the ribs from Saradoc.   
  
Merry had turned the page over and was looking at the hand - drawn map as Sam looked over his shoulder. A route had been drawn leading to a clearing in a dense wood not far from the village.   
  
"A wood. Splendid," Darien said with a nod. "The trees will provide us with cover."   
  
Sam's gaze snapped up to meet the man's and he gasped, "But weren't you listening, sir? If Mr. Merry and I don't go alone - "  
  
"If you go alone, you may be harmed, or at the very least, cheated," Darien replied firmly. "This Bramblethorn seems unlikely to keep his word. He has proved treacherous has he not?"  
  
"Aye, sir, that he has," Sam admitted. "But what good will it do, all of us bein' there when he still has Mr. Frodo?"  
  
"I shall bring more men with me and we shall conceal ourselves in the surrounding woods before the meeting takes place." Darien gestured to a bow and quiver of arrows he had placed in the corner of the room. "We shall attempt to get a clean shot at Bramblethorn, not to kill him, but to wound him so that he might be brought to judgment for his actions."  
  
"Do you think you can do it without being seen?" Saradoc asked doubtfully.   
  
"There are men of great skill who have made themselves available to the Keepers of the Peace," Darien replied confidently. "If they wish to be unseen, none shall see them."  
  
"We're going too, are we not?" Merimac asked, folding his arms over his chest in a determined gesture.   
  
"If you wish, but you must remain similarly hidden," Darien responded. He need not have worried, as hobbits were known to be quite stealthy when they had reason to be.   
  
"All right, so we're goin' to meet this Bramblethorn in the wee hours," Ned said with a nod. "We'd better be sure an' rest up before then, I reckon."  
  
"Wisely spoken," Darien told him. "For we must leave before nightfall if we are to be certain of finding concealment before our quarry arrives at the meeting place." He scooped up his bow and quiver and made for the door. "I shall meet you behind the stables prior to sundown. I'm off to gather what help I can."   
  
The man departed, leaving the hobbits to discuss the plan, its merits and flaws. It was generally agreed that Bramblethorn must not be allowed to escape punishment and that he could not be trusted to complete the transaction as promised.   
  
Sam immediately began to gather various items together and load them into his pack. He had a flask of clean water, cloth to be used as bandages, and herbs used by healers to dull pain. Merry watched in silent apprehension as Sam made his preparations, hoping fervently that they wouldn't be needed.   
  
~*~ To be continued ~*~ 


	25. A Meeting in the Moonlight

The Lady of Mirkwood - Frodo will be at the meeting. You'll see whether Bramblethorn pulls something nasty in this chapter.  
  
FrodoBaggins1982 - Frodo was resigned to his punishment. He knew he wouldn't get by unscathed if he dared to fight back. If I had done some Frodo POV, I think I would have chosen to do it as he looked out the window. I didn't want to give away what he was plotting by going into his thoughts in the cellar.   
  
Elwen - Glad you're enjoying the story. The more opportunities I have to work with these characters, the more practice I get with my writing.   
  
Anarie - I'm glad Frodo's 'choice' made you smile. I had fun writing that part! Frodo is definitely more than meets the eye. Bramblethorn's underestimation of him was a mistake.   
  
Breon Briarwood - Your nail chewing is not without reason. Frodo is not out of this yet.  
  
Hobbitfeet13 - Bramblethorn does indeed have more mischief in mind! Fortunately, he has been content to just leave Frodo to suffer alone in the cellar, but he's ready to take action now.  
  
Endymion2 - The exchange will occur over two chapters. That way I get to leave an evil cliffhanger! Bramblethorn did not leave Anson to watch the inn because he needed him to get the grain ready. Of course, he should have helped with that himself. His unwillingness to get his hands dirty has caused him to make less than the best use of his help.  
  
Stephanie - My goal in the last chapter was to make it look like Frodo was finally breaking down, only to turn the tables on his enemy. Bramblethorn is expecting some trickery from Merry and Sam, and he's got his own plans to counter it. The woods may conceal his enemies, but they can also conceal a quick, stealthy hobbit. If Bramblethorn flees, he will have some chance of eluding the pursuit in the dense woods.  
  
Trust No One - Frodo's humbled and defeated act may have fooled Bramblethorn, but it didn't fool you, did it? Anyone around Bree who knows Bramblethorn isn't too likely to cross him, I suspect. If they want bread to eat and the security of not having unfortunate things happen to them, they'll keep their distance from the villain.   
  
Girlofring1 - Frodo and Sam's relationship is implied in this story, but going back to previous stories like "Sound, Silence and Solace" I have to say they've acted on their feelings in the past. It will be hard for Frodo to accept any such attention, but harder still for Sam to even think of offering it.  
  
Sam - Glad to know the last chapter had the desired effect. I seem to remember snickering evilly as I wrote it.   
  
Spootasia Tomoe - I see Merimac as being a bit of a 'character'. After all, he has a totally different kind of life from the hobbits at the Hall. I see him as being a bit more of a free spirit. Your much desired meeting between the forces of good and evil begins in this chapter.  
  
Camellia Gamgee - Took - So it begins, indeed! It's time to see if Bramblethorn will keep his word and release Frodo.  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Chapter 24 - A Meeting in the Moonlight   
  
The last rays of sunshine were slanting across the yard at the inn as Merry and Sam made their way to the stables to meet with Darien. Merimac, Ned and Saradoc followed a few minutes later. Merry scratched a pony behind one ear and sighed. It had been a long day of waiting and anticipation, nerves stretched taut and details checked and re - checked.   
  
Footsteps at the stable door caused the hobbits to look up, and Darien entered, followed by another man. Both were carrying bows and quivers of arrows, as well as dark cloaks. "I see you are all ready," he commented, surveying the group.   
  
"How are we to proceed, then?" Saradoc asked.  
  
"I believe the rest of us should go to the meeting point immediately, but Merry and Sam should follow after dark. They will not be expected until then, and they will be expected to be driving a cart to transport the grain," Darien explained. " It must appear that all instructions are being followed."  
  
  
  
Sam and Merry looked at each other and nodded. As much as they disliked the idea of the party separating, they had to admit Darien was right. If Bramblethorn arrived after midnight to find Sam and Merry already waiting, he might become suspicious. There was also the danger of all of them being seen approaching together. With Frodo's life hanging in the balance, this was no time to take such chances.  
  
"My companion is Fensel," Darien said, introducing the man next to him. "He is a good marksman and has come to my aid on other occasions." Fensel smiled slightly and bowed his head in greeting to the hobbits.  
  
"Were you not able to enlist the help of more men?" Merimac asked, surprised to see only one other in Darien's company.  
  
"Sadly, I was not," Darien told him with a shake of his head. "Many of the good marksmen I am acquainted with seem to be away."  
  
"I know several who have gone into the wild to hunt," Fensel remarked. "They're not likely to return for days, I'm afraid."  
  
"All right then," Saradoc said simply. "So we will go on ahead and conceal ourselves in the nearby woods. "Merry and Sam will follow after dark, and if all goes well, we shall have Frodo back with us soon."  
  
"Let us hope you are correct," Darien said gravely. "My companion and I shall do all in our power to make it so."  
  
With words of encouragement and the clasping of hands, Saradoc, Ned and Merimac joined the two men as they left the stables. Sam and Merry remained, looking at each other anxiously. "More waiting," Merry remarked in frustration.   
  
"But not for long," Sam answered, eyeing the ponies. "I'll get the wagon ready, Mr. Merry."  
  
Merry nodded sharply, glad of Sam's attention to the tasks at hand. "I'll get the ponies some hay and water then," he told Sam. The two hobbits set about their tasks as they waited anxiously for the hour of the meeting.  
  
~*~ A clearing in the woods at nightfall ~*~  
  
Bramblethorn's map, though simple, accurately led the hobbits and the men to a clearing in the woods near Bree. Dense forest surrounded them as they followed the road until they reached a place where the woods seemed to back away and stand at a greater distance.   
  
"There are few of us and with little weaponry," Saradoc remarked to Darien. "How are we to cover such a large area and prevent Bramblethorn's escape?"  
  
Darien considered. "As the only two archers, Fensel and I will have to take up positions on opposite sides of the clearing where we will be able to shoot accurately and at a proper angle," he answered. He shook his head in frustration. "I had hoped to there would be more of us to better cover the area."  
  
Merimac nodded. "Nonetheless, we're glad of your presence," he said, echoing the thoughts of his companions. "I, for one, wouldn't mind if a bit of close action were necessary. It would be extremely satisfying to get hold of at least one of them."  
  
"They may be armed," Ned reminded Merimac cautiously.  
  
"I wouldn't mind tearing a strip off Bramblethorn myself, Mac," Saradoc admitted, "but this isn't a bunch of drunken riverhobbits throwing punches on a dock. It's far more serious."   
  
"Aye, that it is," Merimac said quietly. He would mind himself and not do anything to endanger any member of the party, especially Frodo. Still, he hoped for his chance at Bramblethorn.   
  
"It's getting dark," Darien remarked. "Let's split up and take our positions. The time for talk is past, and we must wait in silence until they come."  
  
Darien and Fensel worked their way into the woods and found adequate cover where they could see each other and most of the clearing. Each pulled an arrow from his quiver and kept it in hand with his bow, ready to fire upon Bramblethorn when the opportunity presented itself.   
  
Ned, Saradoc and Merimac concealed themselves where they had a view of the road and the clearing. They would be able to watch as the participants in the meeting arrived, and they would be able to see and hear any exchange between them.   
  
The night wore on toward the hour of the meeting, tense minutes ticking by one after another in a seemingly endless march.   
  
~*~ Bramblethorn's smial ~*~  
  
Monto and Anson came tromping into the study, brushing dust and grain chaff from their clothing. They had just completed the loading of the grain and had come back to help with anything else Bramblethorn cared to set them to.   
  
Bramblethorn looked up from where he was stuffing a few items into a leather pack. "You'll be sweeping that up, you know," he told them irritably. He had spent much of the day resting and recovering from the hurt Frodo had dealt him the night before. Bramblethorn found he could stand up without doubling over, but he was moving more gingerly than usual.   
  
"We got the grain loaded up," Monto remarked. "You need help getting that pretty boy upstairs?"  
  
Bramblethorn frowned at Monto. "Do not be insolent," he warned. "Yes, I shall require your assistance in preparing to transport Frodo to the meeting. He's to be kept bound, and I want him blindfolded. You'll not need to gag him, as I suspect a sharp knife pointed in his direction will be enough to silence him."   
  
Beckoning for Anson and Monto to follow, Bramblethorn shouldered his pack and left the study. The three hobbits descended the staircase into the cellar together and Bramblethorn knelt at Frodo's side.   
  
"Frodo, love, the time has come for you to see your cousin and your gardener again," he told his captive. Frodo looked back at him with glassy eyes, seeming to comprehend the statement with difficulty.   
  
"Merry... Sam - " Frodo whispered as Bramblethorn blindfolded him.   
  
"No, love, they are not here. We are going to meet with them now." Bramblethorn brushed his fingers across Frodo's brow and frowned slightly. "It was unkind of you to attack me last night."  
  
"No other choice," Frodo breathed. "I - I had to, or you would have - "  
  
"Indeed, Frodo, you may have spared yourself more of my attentions, but I see you received Monto's instead." Even in the dim light provided by the candle, Frodo's bruises were obvious.   
  
Bramblethorn gestured to Monto and Anson and the two burly hobbits lifted Frodo from the cellar floor and began to carry him up the stairs.  
  
Although sight was denied him, Frodo could hear the wooden staircase creaking under the weight of all four hobbits, and he could detect the faint scent of pipe smoke as they passed the study. A door creaked open and cool, fresh air washed over him. He breathed it in and let it rouse him from his somnolent state.   
  
"Where are we going?" He asked tiredly, as Monto and Anson lifted him into the back of the wagon among the sacks of grain. Bramblethorn climbed up and settled himself beside Frodo.   
  
"Into the forest, dear Frodo," Bramblethorn told him. "And until we get there you will keep quiet." Bramblethorn drew a blanket over Frodo to hide him from view. "I am carrying a knife this evening, my dear," Bramblethorn warned softly. "Do you remember when I cut your hand? I think you do. You won't make me deal you any more such wounds, will you, Frodo?"  
  
Frodo didn't respond. He concentrated on breathing the cool night air and listening to the sounds around him. The wagon began to move, and rattled away down the path, making for the woods.   
  
~*~  
  
"Ouch! Blasted root," Merimac groused irritably. He had been crouching in the underbrush for hours, and it was becoming mightily uncomfortable.  
  
"Shhh! Someone's coming!" Saradoc warned and all three hobbits turned their eyes to the path.   
  
A wagon was definitely approaching. Everyone waited in silence, barely daring to breathe as the sound of the wheels rolling over ruts in the dirt road reached them. Presently the wagon came into view, drawn by two ponies and driven by a stocky hobbit. Another hobbit sat beside the driver, eyeing the woods nearby suspiciously. The Shire hobbits froze in their hiding places as the wagon passed. Another hobbit sat in the back, but there was no sign of Frodo.  
  
The wagon came to a stop and the hobbits climbed down from the seat. The one who had been sitting in the back leapt down and turned to survey the surrounding woods.   
  
Bramblethorn! The moon was bright enough to provide sufficient illumination for Saradoc to identify the exiled hobbit. He recalled many hobbits standing along the road in Buckland, taunting Bramblethorn and hurling the odd tomato at him as he was marched out of the Shire for good.   
  
The two who had been in the wagon's seat were now in the back, lifting something covered by a blanket. They dumped it over the other side of the wagon where it lay concealed from view by the wagon's bulk.   
  
With the wagon between them and Frodo's abductors, Saradoc, Ned and Merimac couldn't see Frodo lying on the ground. They didn't see Anson and Monto pull the blanket away and unbind Frodo's hands only to bind them again in front and pull them up over Frodo's head. Frodo was forced to kneel as his hands were tethered to the wheel of the wagon.   
  
"We shall now see if your cousin comes to pay for the grain and for your release," Bramblethorn said in Frodo's ear. "Monto will be by your side, and his knife is at the ready, so don't do anything foolish."   
  
Darien watched silently from the shadows. From his position he could clearly see the hobbits secure their captive to the wagon wheel. Frodo was clearly alive, but he sagged wearily as he knelt on the ground. Darien's fingers tightened on his bow in a deadly grip and he willed himself to remain hidden, to wait until the proper time. The obvious suffering of the captive was difficult for him to watch, but he knew that he would only endanger Frodo more if he broke cover now. He peered around a tree and across the clearing at Fensel, raising his hand in a sign to hold fire and wait.  
  
Bramblethorn paced and lit his pipe. He walked around to the other side of the wagon and leaned casually against it, contemplating the road anew. Brandybuck and the gardener should be along soon, he surmised, looking up to see the position of the moon, high in the sky.   
  
The rattle of another cart on the path broke his reverie and he stared ahead at the road as it came into view.   
  
Sam and Merry steeled themselves as they saw Bramblethorn and one of his bodyguards standing in the clearing ahead, next to a wagon loaded with sacks of grain. Frodo was nowhere to be seen. Merry glowered at Bramblethorn as he stopped the wagon and climbed down from the seat with Sam on his heels. "Bramblethorn!" Merry shouted angrily, "Where is Frodo?"  
  
Bramblethorn smiled and puffed on his pipe. "Fear not, good Meriadoc. He is here."  
  
"Let us see him," Sam called back, stepping forward. Anson brandished his knife, halting Sam's advance.   
  
"You will see him when you have paid properly as agreed. Have you the gold?" Bramblethorn eyed them sharply as he waited.   
  
Merry drew two sacks from his pack and hesitated. "How do we know you'll give Frodo back to us when we give this to you?"  
  
"I suppose you will simply have to trust me," Bramblethorn said with a rakish grin.   
  
"The day I trust you, I shall sprout wings and fly," Merry said and Sam crossed his arms and nodded.  
  
"Hmmm, I guess you really don't want Frodo back as badly as you've said," Bramblethorn taunted. "That would suit me quite well, all things considered."  
  
"You know bloody well we want him back," Merry shot back. "Let us see him, at least, and you shall have your payment."  
  
Bramblethorn considered. What could it hurt? "Very well." He nodded to Monto and the other hobbit disappeared behind the wagon. A moment later he appeared again, hauling Frodo with him.   
  
Sam and Merry gasped. Frodo looked as though he had been in a fight and had come out the worse for it. He was bruised and weary, still blindfolded and swaying in the grasp of the burly hobbit who gripped his arms. At least his ankles weren't bound and he was standing under his own power.  
  
"You said you wouldn't hurt him!" Sam cried furiously as he looked at Frodo. Icy daggers of fear and self - reproach stabbed into him. ~ I'm so sorry, Mr. Frodo! Can you ever forgive me?~  
  
Frodo turned his head toward the sound of Sam's voice. "Sam?" He called. Monto gave Frodo's hair a vicious yank and held the blade of the knife against his throat.   
  
"I said he would not be harmed provided he and the two of you behaved yourselves," Bramblethorn replied. "Frodo has been getting up to some rather ill - considered antics of late, and he has borne punishment for them accordingly."  
  
"Anson, collect the payment, if you will," Bramblethorn said, trading his pipe for a knife of his own. "Don't try anything you - or Frodo - will regret," he instructed Merry and Sam.   
  
Merry slowly handed the bags of gold to Anson, who took them and backed away toward his employer. Bramblethorn beamed. "Count it, Anson. It may be half Brandywine river pebbles for all we know."  
  
Merry bridled at the insinuation. "I'll not cheat you," he called through clenched teeth. "Unlike you, I keep my word when I've given it!"  
  
From the cover of the trees and brush, Saradoc, Ned and Merimac watched in troubled silence. Their fists were clenched and their jaws were set grimly as they listened to the exchange in the clearing. Merimac added another item to his growing list of things for which he wanted to punish Bramblethorn.   
  
Bramblethorn smiled at Merry while Anson began to count the coins. "You've been quite long in coming to claim Frodo," he observed. "I wish to thank you for the time you've given me to get to know him better." Bramblethorn was standing beside Frodo now, reaching out to touch his bruised face. "Much better."   
  
Sam's heart seemed to stop beating for an instant. No! Bramblethorn couldn't possibly mean what Sam thought he did! He watched as Frodo shrank away from Bramblethorn's touch, his shoulders slumped in defeat and shame. If Sam could have seen Frodo's eyes, they would have been nigh empty of all but fear and pain.   
  
"It's all here, boss," Anson said as he finished counting the coins. Bramblethorn took the sacks from him and stowed them in his pack.   
  
"Now, for the grain," Bramblethorn said, pointing at Merry and Sam's wagon. "Anson and Monto will help you load it." Bramblethorn toyed with his knife. "And I shall keep Frodo company during the process."  
  
Sam found it difficult to heft sacks of grain into the wagon and watch Bramblethorn out the corner of his eye at the same time. Bramblethorn within arm's length of Frodo was bad enough, Sam thought, but the fact that the wicked hobbit was armed was worse still. Bramblethorn was standing with his arm around Frodo's shoulders. The hand with the knife hovered in the general vicinity of the captive hobbit's throat.   
  
The other hobbits couldn't hear Bramblethorn whisper to Frodo. "How brave you are, my love. You've saved your people in Buckland from a hungry winter." Bramblethorn reached up and removed the cloth that covered Frodo's eyes. "See for yourself."   
  
Frodo's eyes focused in the moonlight and he watched as Sam and Merry took the sacks from Monto and loaded them into their own wagon. He said nothing, but silently prayed for the end of his ordeal to come in the next few minutes.   
  
When the loading of the grain was finished, Sam and Merry turned to face Bramblethorn. This time Sam's eyes did meet Frodo's and what he saw there chilled him. "Let him go," Sam demanded.   
  
"You have your payment," Merry agreed. "Give us Frodo. Now."  
  
A smile slowly spread across Bramblethorn's face. Sam and Merry tensed as the other hobbit spoke. "You command me to give him to you? It seems to me that you should ask me properly."  
  
Merry gritted his teeth and growled, "Will you please release him?"  
  
The moment had come. In the shelter of the trees, Saradoc, Merimac and Ned waited anxiously. Darien fitted an arrow to his bow, as did Fensel. They silently raised them and aimed.   
  
Bramblethorn gazed into Frodo's eyes, his expression inscrutable. When at last he spoke, he faced Sam and Merry and his voice rang out. "I wonder why I should give him up? After all, I've become so very attached to him."  
  
It was too much for Sam. He lunged forward and Anson waved his knife. "You let him go, you filth!" Sam shouted. "We've kept our end of the bargain, now keep yours!"  
  
"I choose not to do this," Bramblethorn said sharply and Frodo gasped next to him. "I will not do it, for Frodo is mine."   
  
~*~ To be continued ~*~ 


	26. Confessions Amidst the Chaos

Sam - I am evil. Otherwise, how would I have created something like Bramblethorn? No matter who gets their hands on him first, Bramblethorn will get his. In this chapter, in fact.  
  
Hobbitfeet13 - Poor Frodo can't take much more. Will he have to? Read on! Yes, I skipped the Elvish in this one. It played well into the story line for "The Way of Vengeance", so I used it. My Elvish isn't so great either. Thank heavens for websites that have translations!  
  
Shelbyshire - If you think you like reading the reviews, you should be me! LOL!   
  
Heartofahobbit - How is Bramblethorn planning to get away with Frodo? I'm not sure he really is in a mental state to have much of a plan. He's cracking, no doubt about it. Sam will find healing in helping Frodo, but it caused him no end of suffering to know that his worst fears were confirmed.  
  
Endymion2 -Sam is aware that Bramblethorn has done his worst as far as Frodo is concerned. He feared it would happen, but there was as much hope as fear. Now, the hope is gone and there's just the knowledge. Very true that the Ring wanted to be claimed and Frodo didn't. I'm tempted to write an alternate version in which the outcome of this chapter is different, but how much can our heroes take?  
  
Trust No One - I couldn't resist having Bramblethorn claim Frodo in much the same way as Frodo claims the Ring years later. Bramblethorn his full on insane. Nuts. Gonzo. He only knows his obsession now, not the logic of how he will manage what he is taking on.   
  
Stephanie - Bramblethorn is just crazy enough to believe he can hold Frodo's rescuers at bay. He's been slowly coming apart just as Frodo has been.  
  
The Lady of Mirkwood - There is only so much pity one can have for such a creature as Bramblethorn. Even so, there is someone who, due to his nature, will still be able to feel pity for him.  
  
Breon Briarwood - Bramblethorn just can't bear to let Frodo go. It's one of those 'Fatal Attraction' things. There are plans, and then there are plans. The plans of a sane person are a whole different thing compared to those of someone who is, essentially, cracked.  
  
Anarie -You had to know that Bramblethorn wasn't able to just let Frodo walk away and leave him again. That one moment when Frodo and Sam's eyes met was a moment when much was said but without words.  
  
Camellia Gamgee - Took - Bramblethorn is fickle, and more than just a bit insane!  
  
Lucia I. Legaia Tanaka - I'm glad you've come by to read this fic as well as all the others. I, too am guilty of reading but not always reviewing. I'm updating this as of Monday night for you, and I apologize that I couldn't do it earlier. My job is interfering with my fic posting, you know! LOL...  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Chapter 25 - Confessions Amidst the Chaos  
  
"NO!" Merry shouted in horror as Bramblethorn dragged Frodo away.   
  
Chaos followed immediately. An arrow swished through the air toward where Bramblethorn stood. Bramblethorn moved and it missed his leg by only an inch, embedding itself in the wooden side of the wagon.   
  
Sam and Merry grappled with Monto and Anson, trying desperately to get to Bramblethorn and to avoid the knives that flashed in the moonlight. Saradoc, Ned and Merimac bolted from their cover to aid in the fight.  
  
Monto lost his grip on his weapon as Sam came at him from the front and Merimac from behind. "Have this, you filthy lout!" Merimac cried as he spun Monto around and knocked him into the dust with a solid punch. No, Merimac reflected briefly, Saradoc had been right. This was much more than a bunch of drunken riverhobbits brawling at the docks. This was far more satisfying.  
  
Seeing his only remaining ally flattened, Anson began a panicked retreat toward the wagon, his knife slashing at anyone who came near. The sheer number of his opponents put him at a clear disadvantage, with or without a weapon. They were closing in on him little by little.  
  
"Your cousin and your gardener failed to follow my instructions," Bramblethorn said triumphantly as he wrapped an arm around Frodo and stepped behind him. Frodo was now a very effective shield between Bramblethorn and Fensel, who had shot the arrow. "Just as I suspected, they have broken our agreement by not coming here alone." Bramblethorn began to drag Frodo toward the trees, the knife held close to his captive's neck. The brawl in the clearing continued.  
  
"They've paid you! Let me go!" Frodo gasped in horror.  
  
"No, my love, I think not," Bramblethorn hissed. "I have given careful consideration to this matter, Frodo. I know it means giving up all that I have here, but I cannot let you leave me. I would miss you so."   
  
Bramblethorn's tone was strangely calm, and the look in his eyes made Frodo absolutely certain that his captor had become completely delusional. Bramblethorn was speaking as if he thought he and Frodo could share a life together, spending evenings by the fire, smoking and enjoying amiable conversation!   
  
"Frodo!" Merry called out. "He's taking Frodo into the woods!" The alarm was raised, and all who were not busy subduing Monto and Anson began to make their way toward the kidnapper and his prisoner.   
  
Frodo and Bramblethorn had reached the edge of the wood. More indignant shouts rang out as Bramblethorn shoved Frodo into the forest ahead of him. An arrow thumped into the ground where they had stood only a second before.   
  
Darien cursed aloud as his arrow failed to hit its mark. These hobbits were much quicker and more agile than he had expected. He began to move from his hiding place deeper into the trees in the direction Bramblethorn and Frodo were heading, intent upon cutting off any escape route.  
  
The shouts of the rescue party grew louder as they followed Frodo and Bramblethorn into the trees. Bramblethorn listened to the raised voices as he prodded Frodo deeper into the woods, trying to discern whether or not he was surrounded. Finding a direction no voices were coming from, Bramblethorn brandished the knife and growled at Frodo. "Now, my love, get moving!"  
  
Terrified anew at the events of the last few minutes, Frodo complied, but not without protest. "You're mad," he said, his voice betraying his fear. "You cannot escape them!"  
  
"When I want your opinion, I shall give it to you," Bramblethorn shot back. "Keep moving and don't stop until I tell you."  
  
Frodo hurried on, trying to find a path through the dense undergrowth. His progress was hindered by his weariness, and he slowed his pace noticeably. "Can't make it," he gasped, his chest heaving. "I'm too weak. If you let me go, you may escape, but I will only slow you down."   
  
It was true that Bramblethorn would have a better chance at a clean getaway without his captive to look after, but he refused Frodo his freedom yet again. "As I said, I have not risked all just to let you leave my side, beloved."  
  
Somewhere nearby Bramblethorn thought he heard the sound of leaves rustling. There was very little wind to stir them, and it seemed possible that the pursuit was closer than he had realized. Bramblethorn pulled Frodo behind a large tree. He held the knife near Frodo's throat and scanned the surrounding forest warily. The moonlight provided just enough illumination to let him see a few yards in all directions, but no farther. "I shall take his life you try to wrest him from me!" Bramblethorn threatened to his unseen pursuers. "Come no closer, or he shall feel the bite of my blade!"  
  
Frodo desperately searched the face that leered into his for any sign of doubt, any trace of inner conflict. Bramblethorn was bluffing! He had to be! Hazel eyes peered intently into his and Frodo gazed back, willing himself to perceive more than his own fears. In the breathless space of an instant that seemed somehow stretched into an eternity, there appeared in Bramblethorn's eyes something like sorrow.  
  
"What is it?" Frodo breathed. "What is it you see in your mind?"  
  
Perhaps it was Frodo's tone or the steady way his eyes searched Bramblethorn's face for the truth, but the other hobbit found himself answering with complete honesty. "I see you, with me," Bramblethorn said, his voice tight with suppressed emotion. "I'm weary of the company of those who do my bidding but love me not! When I close my eyes and see in my thoughts the future I most desire, I see your eyes and hear your voice. I cannot again bear to resign myself to the loss of that dream!"   
  
"But it is a dream, Bramblethorn," Frodo reasoned. "I am sorry for your pain, but you wish for something that cannot be. I cannot pretend to love one that I do not, merely for reason of fear or pity."   
  
Bramblethorn's eyes darkened again and the window to the truth behind them slammed shut. "Pity? And who are you, Frodo Baggins, to feel pity for me?"  
  
Frodo willed himself to remain calm. "I know what it is you feel. I've been lonely - "  
  
"You see so much by the moonlight, do you?" Bramblethorn ground out, frustrated anew by the knowledge that he had allowed the façade to crumble and had allowed Frodo such a clear glimpse of his true feelings. "You know my pain, and yet you will do nothing to ease it."  
  
"What am I to do? If I stay with you, it will not be my heart that you possess. The emptiness you feel will not be eased by my unwilling presence. It will grow and consume you further."  
  
Bramblethorn's eyes were on the surrounding woods as he gripped the front of Frodo's shirt and held the knife close to his throat. "And so it seems there is to be no escape then, for either of us."  
  
Any confusion Frodo felt as he pondered the statement was dispelled as the tip of Bramblethorn's blade grazed his skin. "Please, you cannot mean to - "  
  
"If I must live without you, it will not be with the knowledge that you've given yourself to any other. If I cannot escape, I shall not be taken. We shall be together, Frodo, whether in this life or the next." Frodo felt the sharp point of the blade press against his throat and the sensation of a single drop of blood coursing down his neck.   
  
Somewhere in the nearby woods a twig snapped, and Bramblethorn reflexively turned his head in the direction of the sound.   
  
"No!" Frodo gasped. Driven beyond logical thought by his terror, he lunged aside in a final, desperate attempt to escape the fate Bramblethorn had promised him. The knife glinted in the moonlight as Frodo shoved Bramblethorn's arm aside and ducked beneath it.   
  
His maneuver brought Frodo out of the shelter of the tree and he became visible to the tall figure hidden in the undergrowth. Darien stopped himself just in time to avoid releasing an arrow. His fingers tightened on the bow and he waited. The second hobbit, the kidnapper, emerged from cover and Darien aimed.   
  
Bramblethorn snarled and leapt at Frodo. Frodo stumbled backward, falling over a tree root to lie staring up as his enemy bore down on him. There came a whooshing sound as an arrow streaked toward its target, and a muffled 'thump' as it struck home. Frodo uttered a gasp as the missile that was meant to merely disable Bramblethorn and allow his capture instead struck the hobbit in the chest.   
  
Bramblethorn reeled, his eyes wide as they beheld the shaft of the arrow protruding from his body. "Frodo!" he gasped, reaching out unsteadily. After staggering a few steps in Frodo's direction, Bramblethorn sank to the ground, his breath coming in harsh rasps. "Frodo..." Bramblethorn wheezed again, his shaking hand beckoning his prisoner near.   
  
Numb with shock, Frodo merely stared at the fallen hobbit. He looked up as he heard footsteps approaching and beheld a man with a bow in his hand, head bowed in regret. "Fear me not, Frodo. I mean you no harm, and I meant only to wound your enemy that he might be captured judged for his deeds," Darien said quietly. "He moved just as I released my arrow." He knelt, drawing a knife from a sheath on his belt and severed Frodo's bonds.   
  
"Thank you," Frodo said quietly. He felt oddly detached from his surroundings, as if what he had just witnessed were no more than a dream. Frodo wondered who the strange man was and how he had come to know of what had happened. Bramblethorn's voice sounded again, bringing Frodo out of his daze.   
  
"Please...take my hand." The hand Bramblethorn extended was shaking, no longer holding a weapon of any kind.  
  
Unable to deny even an enemy comfort in his final moments, Frodo knelt and clasped the trembling hand in his own. He remembered the other hobbit's words several days earlier. Do you know what it would have meant to me if you had ever just simply so much as taken my hand in yours?  
  
Bramblethorn's lips moved and Frodo had to lean close to hear what the other hobbit was saying. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry for...everything."  
  
Speechless, Frodo merely nodded.   
  
Bramblethorn coughed and whispered, "Will you...please...hold me?"  
  
Frodo hesitated briefly, but reached out to draw Bramblethorn into an embrace. Bramblethorn ignored Darien's presence completely. His attention was focused solely on Frodo. "If I must die...then let me die in your arms...where I have so longed to be. Give me this one final thing I ask of you."  
  
"Bramblethorn - " Frodo began, but the mortally wounded hobbit interrupted him.  
  
"I know...you must hate me," he said, looking into Frodo's eyes. "I cannot...blame you if you do. I tried - " Bramblethorn drew several shallow breaths. "I tried to win your affection. I thought you might...learn to care for me in time."  
  
"I'm sorry," Frodo responded truthfully. He was sorry, sorry for the tragic end things had come to. It was indeed tragic, Frodo thought, that Bramblethorn had so misspent his life and was to be denied any opportunity to seek redemption. Then again, perhaps he was finding redemption in his attempt to apologize to Frodo.  
  
Darien watched in silence. This was hardly the final exchange he had expected between the kidnapper and his victim. He backed away a few paces, sensing that the danger to Frodo was now past.   
  
"The game...has ended," Bramblethorn murmured, "and you...stand victorious." His eyes drooped shut and his grasp on Frodo's hand began to slacken. Frodo barely heard the next, and last words Bramblethorn spoke. "Goodbye, my love."  
  
When Bramblethorn's body was limp in his arms and the unsteady rise and fall of his chest had ceased, Frodo eased Bramblethorn down against the ground as a single tear coursed down his cheek. None of this should ever have happened, Frodo thought sadly.   
  
A rustling of branches and shouts of "Frodo!" and "Mr. Frodo, answer me!" heralded the arrival of Merry and Sam. They stood dumbstruck at the tableau before them as Ned, Saradoc and Merimac emerged through the trees to join them. Fensel failed to appear, as he was busy seeing that Monto and Anson did not escape.   
  
Sam rushed immediately to Frodo's side and gathered him into his arms, his tears flowing freely. "Mr. Frodo! I was so scared that he'd - " The rest of the sentence disappeared into a sob.   
  
Frodo seemed dazed, as if he thought Sam were naught but a dream rather than flesh and blood. Slowly it dawned on him that he was free, and finally safe. "Sam..." Frodo said softly, reaching out a shaking hand to brush across Sam's cheek.   
  
Sam clasped the hand and held it there. "I'm here, Mr. Frodo," he responded.   
  
Merry dashed to Frodo's side and knelt in the fallen leaves. "Frodo! Thank the Valar! Are you all right?" His voice wavered and his brow was creased with deep concern.   
  
"Yes," Frodo responded numbly, also gazing at the still form of his vanquished enemy. "I think so." Frodo noticed what he thought was blood on the sleeve of Merry's shirt. "Merry, what - "  
  
"It's nothing," Merry insisted, placing a hand over the area. Anson's knife had scored him during the brawl, but not deeply. "It's naught but a scratch, Frodo. It can wait."  
  
Sam glanced at Bramblethorn. "Is he - ?"  
  
"He's dead, Sam," Frodo confirmed.   
  
Frodo's voice sounded thin and weary, laced with regret. Sam looked at him wonderingly. Had Frodo such a kind heart, he would regret the death of even a vile creature like Bramblethorn? "He can't hurt you, ever again," Sam said quietly.   
  
"I know Sam, but it shouldn't have come to this." Frodo shook his head as his gaze swept the form of his fallen enemy. "It shouldn't have ended this way."  
  
"And how should it have ended?" Merry asked, frowning. "Should he have been left to roam free, to find you again, perhaps?" Merry looked at his cousin's bruised and disheveled state and felt little remorse regarding Bramblethorn's demise.  
  
Frodo closed his eyes and leaned against Sam. How could he explain the strange sorrow he felt? It was a sorrow for a life misspent, for the wages of greed, cruelty and obsession to have been paid out so harshly and with such finality. Frodo mourned not his enemy himself, but what he might have been had he chosen a different path.   
  
"I don't know, Merry," Frodo answered tiredly. "I'm cold."   
  
Frodo was indeed shivering and Merry removed his cloak to wrap it around his cousin's shoulders. No protests rose to Frodo's lips as Sam lifted him and began to carry him back toward the clearing where the wagon waited. "We'll take care of you, Mr. Frodo," he said.   
  
Darien met Saradoc's gaze. "I shall see to things here," he said, meaning the body of the hobbit his arrow had pierced. He handed Bramblethorn's pack to Merimac, who took it wordlessly. It was heavy with the gold Bramblethorn had demanded and would no longer need.   
  
When the hobbits emerged into the clearing again, they saw Fensel standing guard over Monto and Anson, who were bound and unconscious. Although they had been armed with knives, they hadn't fared well against the combined forces of Frodo's rescuers.  
  
Frodo glanced at them as Sam gently eased him down in the back of the wagon. "What will happen to them?" Frodo asked as Sam reached into his pack for a clean cloth and his flask of water.   
  
"They'll get their due, I hope," Sam said rather forcefully.   
  
"They certainly will," Fensel said as he approached the wagon. "They shall be punished for their role in these events."  
  
"I know nothing of the laws of Bree," Frodo said quietly as Sam dabbed at his bruised face with the cloth. "What shall be done to them?"  
  
Fensel frowned slightly. "That depends upon the severity of their misdeeds. As the one they have wronged, you may make your recommendation and it shall be considered."  
  
"I ask that no more blood be shed," Frodo answered, looking off toward the trees and the shadowy form of Darien emerging, carrying Bramblethorn. Frodo watched and a shudder ran through him. In death, Bramblethorn had seemed much less the dangerous enemy than he had been in life. He looked diminished, drained of the powerful and threatening presence he had exuded.   
  
"Fear not, Master Baggins. There are many other methods of punishing the guilty. A term of incarceration and labor in the service of the people, for example." Fensel's words seemed to satisfy Frodo, who sighed and nodded.   
  
Sam continued his gentle ministrations as Merry draped a blanket over Frodo. "Let's get back to the inn. We can't care for Frodo properly here," he said, climbing up into the wagon and seating himself on a pile of grain sacks. Saradoc took the reins and Merimac sat beside him while Ned climbed into the back with Merry, Sam and Frodo.   
  
"Darien and I shall be along shortly," Fensel promised. He waved the hobbits on their way and turned to assist the other men in taking Monto and Anson into custody.   
  
~*~  
  
A fire at the hearth warmed the room, and Sam removed the kettle from where it hung over the flames. He poured the heated water into a basin, saving some to make the medicinal tea he had brought back from Buckland. He and Frodo were alone now, the other hobbits having reluctantly retired to the next room. Even Merry had allowed himself to be shepherded out the door, for who could better care for Frodo than Sam?   
  
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, barely holding back tears. "I knew he would hurt you. I shouldn't have left you there with him." He seated himself on the edge of the bed and began to survey Frodo's injuries, blaming himself for each one.  
  
"You had no other choice, Sam," Frodo responded. "Had you refused to leave me, you would have been forced to regardless. You would have been hurt as well, and I couldn't bear it if - "  
  
"Shhh..." Sam gently began to remove the bandage from Frodo's right hand. "Don't you worry on my account, Mr. Frodo. I'd have borne anything to keep you safe." He frowned as he looked at the cut on Frodo's palm. "He gave you this."  
  
Frodo didn't reply. The wound was superficial, and in truth it hardly pained him anymore. Bramblethorn had dealt him far worse, and Frodo lowered his gaze as he felt a sense of shame swelling within him again.   
  
Sam peered at him with great concern. "Mr. Frodo? What is it?" Sam reached out to brush a stray curl from Frodo's forehead, and Frodo turned away.   
  
"I'm sorry, Sam," he whispered, his eyes still downcast. "You're so much more than I deserve."   
  
"No, Mr. Frodo," Sam soothed. "If anything, I'm far less. Why would you say such a thing?"   
  
"How can you bear to look at me, Sam?" Frodo asked brokenly. "How can you bear my presence?"  
  
Sam froze in mid - motion and stared at Frodo as comprehension came to him, harsh and unforgiving. No! Please no, Sam thought desperately. He saw the tears in Frodo's eyes and heard the hurt in his voice, and he knew. He had fought the knowledge until that moment, denying it. But now...  
  
Struggling for words, Sam reached out again, gently turning Frodo to face him. "Oh, Mr. Frodo," he whispered. "Please say you're all right. Please tell me - "  
  
Frodo's only reply was to close his eyes and turn away from his gardener's gaze. How could he give voice to the anguish he felt when he looked in Sam's eyes and saw the horror in them? Was it grief and horror at the thought of what Bramblethorn had done, or was it the revulsion Frodo had been promised by his attacker? Did Sam now find him repulsive as Bramblethorn had said he would?  
  
"Sam..." Frodo began, but found himself unable to speak further.   
  
"You don't have to speak of it, not ever," Sam said soothingly. "You'll be all right now, and I promise I'll never leave you again."   
  
A single tear slid down Frodo's cheek. "I don't want you to."   
  
Sam gathered Frodo into his arms and just held him as the fear and grief poured out of him. He closed his eyes and tried to think of anything but what Bramblethorn had done to the one person he cherished above all others.   
  
When Frodo had calmed again, Sam rose and poured some tea into a cup. As he turned to hand the cup to Frodo, he thought he saw a brief flash of fear in his eyes. He paused, uncertain as to what had caused the reaction.   
  
Frodo silently berated himself. This was Sam, the last person in the world who would ever hurt him. He no longer needed to equate a steaming cup of tea with being abused and imprisoned. "I'm sorry, Sam," he said, smiling wanly. He reached out and accepted the cup, being careful not to spill it.   
  
"No more talkin' now," Sam said gently as he watched Frodo sip carefully from the teacup. "It will help with the pain," Sam said softly as he sat down on the bed again. "I know you're hurtin', Mr. Frodo, in ways I can't help with now. But maybe in time - "  
  
"Yes, Sam, perhaps. If anyone can help me, it's you, but I just need...some time." Frodo settled himself in Sam's arms again and closed his eyes, gratefully sinking into sleep.   
  
~*~ To be continued ~*~ 


	27. Rights and Wrongs

Gemmas - I don't know why we put Frodo through so much. Probably because his strength through adversity is one of his strongest character traits.  
  
Endymion2 - I had a hard time deciding to do away with Bramblethorn. I tried writing a scene where he gets away, but it was completely anticlimactic. The bit with Bramblethorn dying in Frodo's arms might seem a bit hackneyed in a way, but given Frodo's ability to pity even the most messed up creatures, I allowed it. Bramblethorn's death did, in a way, take something from the rescue scene, but this story is about him and Frodo, and obsession leading to a tragic end.  
  
Iorhael - Nightmares, indeed! Frodo need fear no more physical harm from his departed enemy, but the effects will linger.  
  
Camellia Gamgee - Took - I'm sorry to see Bramby go myself. I got to know him so well, you know! But I realized there were only so many times I could bring him back to cause trouble. All things must come to an end. That's the tragic element of this story, the fact that Bramblethorn could have yet made something better of himself had he lived. Turmoil ahead, definitely.  
  
Aelfgifu - I knew the last chapter would be hard for you, dear. It was hard for me, too. I've never killed any of my characters before.  
  
Breon Briarwood - Wow, indeed. Bramblethorn is gone, but not forgotten!  
  
Trust No One - I hope I didn't overdramatize. Bramblethorn is a bit over the top on his own, so I had to keep him in character without overdoing it. You will see some of the healing process in this fic as Frodo comes to grips with the aftermath.  
  
GamgeeFest - Bramby's moment of truth has come, but sadly, too late. Frodo does not know what to think regarding Sam now, and that will be the source of angst to come.   
  
Stephanie - The tragic element of this story was definitely Bramblethorn's passing before he could truly redeem himself. He'd pretty well lost it, though. Sam will be there when Frodo needs him most.  
  
Sam - Thank you for your comments. I wanted the last chapter to evoke some emotion, and it looks like it did!  
  
Hobbitfeet13 - All that's happened does make you wonder why Bramblethorn was the way he was and if things could have been different. Maybe someday I'll invent a back story to explain some of it. I'm not sure it would really be fit for ff.net, though, since the main character would not be one of Tolkiens.  
  
The Lady of Mirkwood - Frodo is finally safe with the people who love him most. Now he will have to face the memories of his experience. Pippin is soon to escape Tuckborough and see our other favorite hobbits again. Sam is soon to be absolutely certain of what Bramblethorn did to Frodo. He won't be able to deny it any longer.  
  
R.B. - Poor Bramblethorn, yes. In the end he was much to be pitied. And now, Frodo has to face the aftermath of all that's happened to him.  
  
Anarie - Frodo is so kind that he could not deny even such a vicious enemy as Bramblethorn his final request. Frodo will have to face a brave attempt to break through his fears and memories in coming chapters, and Sam will be there to help him.  
  
Shelbyshire - Bramblethorn was just twisted enough by the time of his demise that he just might have taken Frodo's life to keep him from being with someone else. An alternate ending might be fun to write, who knows? But I agree, there was not much more that Bramblethorn could really do to Frodo at this point.  
  
Spootasia Tomoe - There will be more catharsis in this chapter too, for just about everyone. Bramblethorn was to be pitied, certainly. He was deserving of all the anger the other characters felt toward him, but he was something of a tragic figure as well.  
  
FrodoBaggins1982 - Frodo's courage is one of the greatest things about him. It would have been enjoyable to see Sam get Monto by the throat and tell him a thing or two, but with Bramblethorn escaping with Frodo, there wasn't time. You're right that the scene was meant to happen at a fast pace! In this chapter, Frodo will share his knowledge with Merry about how the harvest was ruined. Your idea regarding Bramblethorn's worldly possessions spurred additions to this chapter and others. I didn't end up adding a reading of the will, but I'm going to let everyone into the house to find a thing or two! I've actually written some 'early Bramblethorn era' vignettes, and I've found a way to use some of it in this story!  
  
Just - dropped - by - I was sorry to see Bramby go in a way too. After all, he was the first true OC I've created, and he literally grew on me. He was supposed to be a one - shot for "In Safekeeping". The prologue is meant as a tonge - in - cheek reminder that all of this is, after all, a fiction. Bramblethorn himself said that no hobbits were actually harmed in the making of this tale. In short, it was really sort of like an actor introducing a show. The character may die, but the actor lives on. And who better to warn the audience of his own nasty behavior than Bramblethorn? Heh heh!  
  
Wilwarin - Bramblethorn will trouble Frodo no more, at least not by his physical presence. Frodo is an extraordinary hobbit, isn't he?  
  
Monet - It was hard for me to finish off my villain. I've known him for so long! Frodo will need a lot of love now and he'll get it.   
  
Peony - There was some danger of an arrow going astray and hitting Frodo, but thankfully that didn't happen! I'll miss Bramby in an odd way, but it was time.   
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
This chapter has undergone a revision and is now a bit longer than before. Reviews have brought new thoughts with them, and have made me think of places where something was lacking and more of the story could be told. Thank you all for your input and your musings, as they've helped me expand and flesh out this tale!  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
Chapter 26 - Rights and Wrongs  
  
It was late morning and Sam was preparing tea for Frodo when there came a light tapping on the door. "You stay where you are, Mr. Frodo," Sam said as he crossed the room. "You haven't got near enough rest, by my reckoning." There were no arguments from Frodo, who simply lay back against the pillows and closed his eyes again. He felt as if he could easily sleep for the next month.  
  
Sam opened the door to admit the other hobbits. Saradoc looked over at Frodo and whispered, "We can talk later, if - "  
  
"No, it's all right," Frodo said, opening his eyes again. The presence of the other hobbits would be a welcome distraction from his own thoughts.  
  
Merry seated himself on the bed next to Frodo. The cut on his arm had been bandaged, and he had a bruise on his forehead. "How are you feeling, Frodo?" he asked quietly.  
  
"I'm tired," Frodo admitted, "but not too tired to see all of you." Frodo examined Merry with a critical eye, noting the bruise and gazing again at the bandage on his cousin's arm.  
  
"Don't give me that look, Frodo," Merry chided. "I gave back more than I got, rest assured."   
  
"That he did," Merimac confirmed. "Brawling like the lads along the river, he was. I wonder where he learned such skills, given the fact that such behavior is forbidden at Brandy Hall."   
  
"Lads will be lads, Mac," Saradoc said wryly. "The Brandybuck temper can only be suppressed so far, rules of the Hall notwithstanding." Merry had been caught fighting on only a few occasions, when he had been pushed beyond his considerable endurance. Those who had incurred his wrath seldom did so again.  
  
"Enough about me," Merry said decisively, giving Frodo's knee a pat. "We came to tell you of our plans."  
  
"What plans?" Frodo asked. There was something in Merry's tone that hinted at satisfaction. "Isn't it time we should go back to the Shire? We've been gone so long, and there's the grain - "  
  
"You're not ready to travel yet, and you know it," Merry chided gently. "We'll be here just a little while longer, so we might as well do something useful while we can."  
  
"What are you getting at, Mr. Merry?" Sam regarded Merry quizzically.   
  
"Remember when I told you I had purchased more grain than was needed, and that I had a mind to get back at Bramblethorn?" Merry asked. Sam nodded. "What I had been planning was to sell the extra in the marketplace at a low price and expose Bramblethorn for the scoundrel and cheat that he was. It would have ruined his tidy little arrangement completely."  
  
"That's hardly going to be necessary now, Merry," Frodo said calmly. Bramblethorn had paid the ultimate price for his transgressions, and it would hardly matter if his deeds were made public now.  
  
"True, but Bramblethorn owed a debt to the people of Bree for cheating them," Merry countered. "Those two fellows he hired to do his dirty work confessed their parts in the entire scheme, and we know where the remainder of Bramblethorn's grain is stored. Darien is going to confiscate it and distribute it free to the people in the marketplace, and we're to help him do it!"   
  
There was a hint of pride and excitement in Merry's voice as he spoke, but try as he might, Frodo found that he could not match his cousin's enthusiasm. He was still very tired and his entire body ached. He mustered a small smile and said, "That's a splendid idea, Merry."   
  
Merry noticed Frodo's demeanor and he spoke gently. "I didn't think you would feel up to coming with us, but if you do - "  
  
Frodo shook his head. "No, thank you, Merry. I would only be getting in the way."   
  
Merry's brow creased slightly, but he let the moment pass. It was only natural for Frodo to sound tired and even a little disheartened. He had been through so much, and the shock to his system must be enormous.  
  
"I'll stay here with Mr. Frodo, if you please," Sam volunteered. He absolutely wasn't going to leave Frodo's side for longer than it took to get breakfast from the innkeeper.   
  
"You're predictable as the seasons, Sam," Merry answered. "You're needed most here, it's true." He gave Frodo's knee one last pat and stood. "We'll be back in a few hours, Frodo. You rest easy and let Sam care for you."  
  
"Could I do aught else?" Frodo said, trying to keep his tone light for Merry's benefit. It was a constant effort to keep his thoughts from wandering back to his experiences as Bramblethorn's captive. I mustn't burden them with it, for I've burdened them enough, he thought to himself.   
  
"Off we go, then, on our good errand," Merimac said, grabbing Ned and Saradoc by their arms and hauling them toward the door. "Let's let Frodo rest while we treat the folk of Bree to all the grain they can carry!"   
  
Merry smiled at his uncle's enthusiasm and made for the door, casting a quick glance at Sam. Help him, Sam, Merry's eyes said silently. Don't let him be afraid. Let him know that he's safe.   
  
Sam motioned for Merry to wait. "Before you go, I need to get something for Mr. Frodo's breakfast. Will you stay with him while I go find the innkeeper?"  
  
"Absolutely, Sam," Merry answered, resuming his position at Frodo's side. To the others he said, "I'll meet you by the stables in a few minutes." Ned, Saradoc and Merimac continued on their way to meet Darien.  
  
The worry in Sam's face eased considerably with the knowledge that he wouldn't have to leave Frodo alone. "I'll be back right quick, Mr. Frodo. You just rest a bit."   
  
Frodo nodded and lay back against the pillows as Sam left the room and closed the door softly behind him. Frodo caught himself listening for the sound of a bolt sliding into place, locking him in, but none came.   
  
"Frodo?" Merry queried, having seen the sudden change in Frodo's expression.   
  
Frodo was startled back to his present surroundings by his cousin's voice. "I'm fine, Merry, really," he said dismissively, silently berating himself for allowing Merry to see his discomfiture.  
  
"Are you, Frodo?" Merry pressed gently. "We're all very concerned about you, you know."  
  
"I know you are, and I appreciate all of you so much," Frodo answered honestly. "But you mustn't fret over me, Merry. I'll be all right, really."  
  
Is he trying to convince me, or himself? Merry eyed Frodo critically. It was evident that he had suffered at the hands of Bramblethorn and his bodyguards. It seemed every inch of exposed skin bore at least a hint of bruising. And what of the other effects of his captivity? Merry wondered with dread what, exactly, Frodo had been made to endure. Sam knew at least in part, Merry thought, but there was something about the gardener's demeanor that caused Merry to balk at the thought of inquiring further. It was too soon to expect Frodo to unburden himself regarding such an experience.   
  
"I know you will," Merry answered simply. "Sam must be influencing me. I'm starting to sound like him, aren't I?"  
  
Frodo gave Merry's hand a light squeeze. "You've always been there for me Merry, even when we were much younger. Sam was not the first to hover over me like a mother hen, you know."  
  
"Can't help it," Merry said with a grin. "It's a tough job, but someone has to do it."   
  
Frodo's demeanor became serious. "Merry, I have to tell you - "  
  
Merry shook his head. "No, Frodo, you don't have to do or say anything."  
  
"Listen to me Merry, please," Frodo continued, capturing his cousin's gaze with his own. "The failure of the harvest," he said rather haltingly, "it was his fault. Bramblethorn - "  
  
Merry stared at Frodo. "What? Frodo, what are you saying?"  
  
"Bramblethorn ruined the harvest in Buckland," Frodo explained. "He came across the weed here, in Bree. He sent Monto and Anson to sow the seeds in Buckland's fields."  
  
Merry's expression darkened. "So that's how it got there," he muttered. "But why, Frodo? Why would he do such a thing?"  
  
"Revenge," Frodo said quietly. "And for his own gain. He knew that you would have to seek outside the Shire for help. With his control over the supply of grain in Bree - "  
  
"Ah," Merry replied, nodding. "I see now. He was counting on us having to come here." As if suddenly realizing what his words meant, Merry hastily glanced at Frodo and continued, "But he couldn't have known you'd - "  
  
"No, Merry. He could not have known you, Sam and I would come together. It's not your fault. You mustn't blame yourself."  
  
The door opened again and Sam returned with a tray laden with bread, fruit and a steaming bowl of broth. "Thank you, Mr. Merry. Mr. Frodo's breakfast is ready."   
  
"You eat and rest," Merry commanded as he rose from the bed. He was glad of the interruption at that point. "We're going to the market now, so I'll see you when we get back." He waved at Sam as he left the room.   
  
"If you wanted to go with them, you could have, Sam," Frodo said as he stirred the broth. "I'm sure I would be safe here."   
  
Sam shook his head. "A crowded marketplace doesn't sound appealing to me, if you understand. I'd much rather stay here with you, Mr. Frodo."   
  
"As you like, Sam," Frodo answered. He tasted the broth and smiled. "This is just what I need. Thank you."  
  
"If you want more the innkeeper said just to ask," Sam replied. "He's a nice man, Mr. Frodo. He was a little put out with me and Mr. Merry for leavin' unexpected to go to Buckland, but he ain't upset about it now."   
  
"I'm sorry there's been so much trouble on my account," Frodo said softly. "You and Merry have endured so much, and all of Brandy Hall must be in a terrible uproar - "  
  
"Now don't you worry none about Brandy Hall, Mr. Frodo," Sam said with a frown. "You've done a great deal to help the folks there, and they'll find no fault with you."   
  
Frodo didn't answer. Instead, he took another spoonful of the broth.   
  
Unable to think of any more to say at the moment, Sam set about tidying up the room. What should he say at a time like this? He certainly didn't want to bring up anything that might cause Frodo distress, but it also seemed like idle Shire gossip wasn't quite appropriate either. If I ask him how he's feelin' again, he'll probably tell me to mind my place and let him be, Sam thought sadly.   
  
Something like a contented sigh brought Sam out of his reverie a few minutes later. Frodo had finished the broth and a little bread and fruit. "I think I'll try to sleep for a while, Sam," he said as he leaned back.   
  
"If you need anything I'll be here," Sam promised as he took the tray and placed it on the table nearby. He fluffed up the pillows and tucked the blankets snugly around Frodo again. Before long, Frodo was sleeping peacefully and Sam took up his place in the chair nearby.  
  
~*~   
  
"So this is it, then?" Merry asked, gazing at the large wooden barn on the outskirts of the village.   
  
"Yes, or so the two we have in custody said," Darien answered, referring to Monto and Anson's confessions. "Inside there should be a supply of grain fit to feed the whole of Bree for months and then some."  
  
There was only one problem. The door was held shut by a heavy metal lock that looked as if it could defy any attempt to open it by force.   
  
"Where did he get this?" Merry asked, fingering the lock. "It looks almost like it's of Dwarf make."  
  
"It could be," Darien answered. By now Ned, Saradoc and Merimac had leapt out of the wagon and gathered around to peer at the thing that barred their entrance to the building.   
  
"Well, whoever made it, we must find a way over, under or through it," Merimac remarked helpfully.   
  
"The key," Saradoc said, considering. "Did you find the key when you - " he broke off, trying to find a way to phrase the question. "Bramblethorn didn't happen to have it with him when he - "  
  
"We found no key," Darien said with a shake of his head.   
  
"There must be one, back at his smial someplace," Merry surmised. He fixed Darien with a sharp gaze. "Did they tell you where he lived?"  
  
"As a matter of fact, they did," Darien said. "It would be a shame to damage the doors of this building unnecessarily. Perhaps we should look for the key there before we resort to such actions."  
  
Merry thought for a moment, then nodded. The idea of going near Bramblethorn's smial was repellent in and of itself, but if it made their entrance easier, he was willing. Besides, who knew what else they might learn in the bargain? Perhaps Bramblethorn had been up to more than what had already come to light.   
  
"All right, let's go. Let's see if we can find the key." Merry turned and began to walk back toward the wagon. Saradoc looked from Darien to his son's retreating form and nodded. It might be unpleasant, visiting the place of Frodo's imprisonment, but there was good reason. The idea of merely breaking into the structure was abandoned for the moment as Darien and the hobbits prepared to make their way to Bramblethorn's smial.  
  
~*~   
  
"Are you sure this is it?" Merry asked as he looked around. There were a number of large smials in the hills above the village. He and Sam had been blindfolded when they had been brought to Bramblethorn's lair to hear the terrible ultimatum he had given them.  
  
"Those two fellows told all," Darien said, surveying the property. "They were hoping to lighten their own punishments by cooperating. In doing so, they've given us much information."  
  
Merimac tried the door. It was locked and refused to budge. "Did anyone happen to find the key to this?" he asked.  
  
"No, but perhaps there's an open window," Darien said thoughtfully. The hobbits were small enough that one of them might be able to get inside by such means and open the door for the rest of them.  
  
The entire company circled the dwelling, looking for any easy access to the inside. Soon, Merry called out, "Here! This one isn't locked!" He peered in the round window carefully. "Someone give me a boost!"  
  
Saradoc and Merimac laced their fingers together to give Merry a lift up to the window. Merry pushed for all he was worth, and the window swung in, causing him to fall through the open portal into the room beyond.   
  
Merry brushed himself off as he rose to his feet. He was inside Bramblethorn's smial again, this time in a room he had never seen before. A bedroom. Merry glanced around apprehensively. Breaking and entering was not something he was at all accustomed to, and the very knowledge of who this property had belonged to was unnerving.   
  
Suddenly Merry felt the urge to get out of the room as soon as possible. There was something about the thought of standing in Bramblethorn's bedroom that bothered him immensely. Had Frodo been forced into this room, he wondered? Best not to think of that now. "Give me a moment to find the door and open it," he called out the window to the others.   
  
After a few wrong turns down one corridor or another, Merry found the front door and opened it with a sweeping gesture. "Greetings," he announced, "the way is open."  
  
The rest of the searchers entered the smial, the hobbits comfortably and Darien less so, having to duck to keep from knocking his head against the beams across the ceiling.   
  
"Now if I were a mad, egotistical hobbit, where would I keep the key to a shed full of grain?" Merimac asked, looking around curiously.   
  
Merry ignored the comment and began to wander down the nearest hallway. He peered into the first room he came to and a look of recognition crossed his face. "I've been here," he remarked. "This is Bramblethorn's study. This is where he made his demands for the ransom and payment for the grain."  
  
"As likely a place to search as any," Saradoc said as he appraised the room.   
  
The group fanned out and everyone began to search through drawers and nooks. Merry stood looking down at the writing desk and absently flipped open the cover of a book that lay upon it. The cover was a richly - dyed blue leather, almost the color of Frodo's eyes, he realized. His eyes fell upon the writing on the page and he realized what it was he beheld - Bramblethorn's diary!   
  
There was something disconcerting about the idea of looking at such a thing on general principals, he realized, but he couldn't help himself. Glancing furtively around at the other occupants of the room who were absorbed elsewhere, he picked up the book and tucked it inside his weskit.   
  
"Ah! I may have found it," Darien exclaimed, and Merry whirled around to see the tall man holding up a brass ring with a selection of keys hanging from it. "There's at least some chance the key we seek may be one of these," he surmised. The search continued for a short while longer as the other rooms were inspected. No other keys were found, and the group left the dwelling as they had found it, but for the absence of the small leather - bound volume Merry had hidden from the others.  
  
~*~  
  
The lock clicked open with satisfying ease. The key Darien and the hobbits had sought had indeed been one of those hanging on the brass ring. As the doors swung open, the afternoon sunlight streamed into the wooden building, illuminating many sacks of grain, stacked one atop the other.   
  
"Will you look at that," Saradoc said, his gaze roving around the room.   
  
"It seems the deceased did indeed hold much of the grain in the nearby environs," Darien agreed. "He will not need it now, and the folk of Bree certainly shall. Fellows, our errand awaits us."  
  
With that the hobbits formed a line and began to hand the sacks along to one another. They loaded the wagon as full as they could manage and locked the door behind them. There was still plenty of grain left, and it looked like the better part of the day would be spent in its distribution.  
  
~*~   
  
Curious looks met the four hobbits and the man as they rolled into the marketplace in a large wagon laden with sacks of grain. Merry and Ned jumped out and settled the horses while Darien stood atop the sacks and called for the attention of the crowd that was gathering.   
  
"People of Bree," he began in a loud, clear tone, "hear me! For months you have paid a great cost for your bread, when it could be found at all."  
  
Nods of assent came from the crowd.  
  
"You may have been led to believe that grain was in short supply in Bree, and that the price of such a scarce commodity was justified." Darien gestured to the sacks around him. "But I tell you that grain is not hard to come by in Bree, or at least it shall not be any longer."  
  
Gasps rose from the people who had gathered around the wagon. "Look, he's got a wagon full of it!" someone exclaimed. "Where did it come from?"  
  
"You were deceived by Rushford Bramblethorn, a resident of Breehill," Darien explained. "He gained control of the supply of grain in and about Bree and he sold it to you at a premium."  
  
"He was hoardin' it!" A man gasped indignantly, and murmurs rose from the people near him.   
  
"Yes, good sir, he was," Darien confirmed. "But now his scheme is exposed and his debt to the people of Bree is to be paid in full. You will all receive a share of the grain you see here, free of charge."  
  
A cheer erupted from the growing crowd as Saradoc and Merimac helped lower the back of the wagon to make the grain accessible. As thrilled as the people were, they maintained a semblance of order as the sacks were parceled out. There was no pushing and shoving, just jubilation as sack after sack of grain was placed in their waiting hands. Several people asked the fate of the hobbit who had cheated them, and Darien quietly replied that Bramblethorn had been killed while attempting to escape capture.   
  
The unloading continued until the wagon was empty. The people were still coming, and Darien told them to wait for the next load. They had yet to completely empty Bramblethorn's storehouse of its contents, but they surely would by the time the afternoon came to a close.   
  
To and fro from the market to Bramblethorn's granary the wagon went during the afternoon, until everyone who had answered Darien's summons had received his share of the grain. Darien shook the hand of each of the hobbits and congratulated them on a job well done.   
  
~*~To be continued~*~ 


	28. Haunted

FrodoBaggins1982 - The diary is definitely about Bramblethorn's musings. I'll have a passage from it in a future chapter. While it contains an account of what he did to Frodo, it contains much more than that. Merry didn't completely blow his top regarding Bramblethorn's treachery because his mind was mostly on Frodo's well - being at the time, and also because it wouldn't have made any difference.   
  
CuriousCat - Frodo will find comfort, but it will take a little while to work through some issues. We won't go into all that the diary contains, but there is a part of it coming soon..   
  
Spootasia Tomoe - Merry will read the whole diary, but only in private and will tell no one else that he even found it. He will shed some tears over it, certainly.   
  
GamgeeFest - You'll get a bit of the contents of Bramblethorn's diary in a future chapter. Frodo is so worried about those around him that he fails to see what they are trying to do for him.  
  
Endymion2 - Bramblethorn was completely honest in his writings. I'm not going to go into much regarding Frodo's captivity because we all know what happened. But there will be some insights into the twisted mind of the villain!  
  
Breon Briarwood - You'll encounter some of Bramblethorn's mad ramblings soon.   
  
Stephanie - Merry was plenty angry at the news of Bramblethorn's treachery, but it would have done no good to shout about it. And poor Frodo needed some peace and quiet, after all. A lot of things came round to rights in the last chapter, but there is still the matter of Frodo.  
  
Hobbitfeet13 - Mac has a sense of humor despite the goings on, doesn't he? Merry is strong enough to read the diary, and he will. I'll share some of it with you soon.  
  
The Lady of Mirkwood - Bramblethorn's diary tells much. The next chapter after this will be rather long due in part to containing some of his writings.  
  
Shelbyshire - There will be some details regarding Frodo in the diary, and not merely about his time as Bramblethorn's captive. In another upcoming chapter you will get to see Saradoc and Frodo talk a bit.  
  
Trust No One - Sam has been close to Frodo for a long time, but never has he encountered something quite like this. He knows what he would usually do to soothe Frodo, but he's not sure Frodo wants such attentions right now.   
  
Sam - More Sam and Frodo in this chapter!  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Major angst alert - This chapter contains a scary flashback in the form of a dream. Some may find it disturbing...  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Chapter 27 - Haunted  
  
"Mr. Frodo?" Sam came to stand by Frodo's side as he looked out the window at the crisp, sunny autumn day that was just beginning. "Everything is loaded up and ready to go."   
  
"I'm ready too, Sam," Frodo told him as he turned away from the window. The other hobbits had based their travel schedule entirely upon Frodo's condition, waiting for him to determine when he felt strong enough to depart. An extra day of rest at the inn had been enough, Frodo had told them. He was more than ready to see his home again.   
  
As Sam and Frodo neared the stables, Merry emerged leading two ponies from their stalls. "Aren't they splendid, Frodo?" he asked with enthusiasm. "When we made our unexpected trip to Buckland, we came back in one wagon together. We had no way to get our wagons back home."  
  
Saradoc sidled up and patted one of the ponies on its flank. "I was planning to purchase a couple more ponies in the spring regardless," he explained. "We'll be able to get the wagons back to Brandy Hall now, and Sam's pony is waiting there to take you back to Hobbiton."   
  
Frodo scratched a pony behind one ear. "They're fine ponies," he remarked, laughing a little as one of them nuzzled him.   
  
Although Sam was relieved to hear Frodo laugh, the sound was thin and half - hearted. He would have preferred a great burst of merriment or even a tipsy giggle to the almost forced sound that came from Frodo's lips, but even that, he supposed, was something. Small blessings were blessings still, he reminded himself as he loaded Frodo's pack into their wagon.   
  
Frodo climbed into the wagon to join Sam, while Ned and Merimac settled into the wagon Merry had first taken to Bree. In the third and last wagon, Saradoc took the reins while Merry climbed into seat beside him. As Saradoc readied the reins in his hands, a shout from the door of the inn startled him. All the hobbits looked up to see the innkeeper hustling toward them with several fresh loaves of bread in his arms.   
  
"These are for your journey home," he said with a smile and a nod. "'Tis the least I can do, as I've got bread for my guests again thanks in part to you fellows."   
  
"Thank you very much," Saradoc answered gravely. "It's a fine parting gift, sir. Thank you for all that you've done."  
  
The innkeeper looked slightly abashed. "If you mean stickin' my nose into my guests' private business, you're welcome. Not that I make a habit of it, you understand."  
  
"No, my good man, certainly not," Saradoc replied, trying to hide his amusement. The innkeeper's words reminded him of old Rorimac stating that his wife would never repeat a rumor, so one had better listen the first time.   
  
"Fare ye well, then," the innkeeper called. He waved as the wagons began to roll away toward the gate that led out of the village, and to the road beyond.   
  
Sam tore a chunk off one of the loaves and munched on it. "It's very good, Mr. Frodo. You should have some." He held out the loaf before him.   
  
"Thank you, Sam, but I'm not hungry just now," Frodo replied. His gaze traveled to the hills above the village and lingered there. I don't think I shall come to Bree again, Frodo thought dimly as the wagon rattled out the gate. Perhaps they're right, all those folk back in Hobbiton. Perhaps it's best to stay within one's own borders after all.   
  
Sam followed Frodo's gaze, thanking the stars when a bend in the road and the nearby woodlands obscured Breehill from view. One less thing to remind Frodo of his ordeal, and ahead, the familiarity and comfort of home.   
  
"Would you like somethin' to read, Mr. Frodo?" Sam reached into Frodo's pack and drew out one of the books he'd brought along for the trip. "If you ain't tired enough to sleep, that is."  
  
"Thank you, Sam, that's thoughtful of you," Frodo responded, accepting the book. He said nothing more, but opened it and let his eyes wander down the paragraphs. Sam pretended not to notice when several minutes passed without Frodo's even turning a page.   
  
Frodo was back where he belonged now, safe in the care of those who loved him. Even so, it seemed Frodo was a shadow of himself, lacking the ready smile and cheerful laughter that was part of his usual demeanor. Instead, he stared vacantly at the pages of the book as if trying to lose himself in them, to escape from the memories that haunted him.   
  
Silence bred like, it seemed, and the entire party seemed subdued as they made their way toward Buckland and Brandy Hall. Even Merimac forbore his usual whistling and yarn - spinning in favor of listening to the rattle of the wheels on the road and the sound of the ponies' hooves.   
  
This is what I've brought among them, Frodo thought dismally as he noted the silence of his companions in the other wagons. They're afraid to speak, lest they say the wrong thing, afraid to move lest I'm startled by their gestures. My fault...  
  
Giving up on the book, Frodo laid the ribbon between the pages and tucked it back into his pack. He leaned back and closed his eyes, allowing them to flutter open again as he felt Sam drape a blanket over him.   
  
"Is there anything you need?" Sam asked cautiously. He wanted very much to provide comfort to Frodo, but only as much as was wanted.   
  
"No, Sam. Thank you," Frodo replied softly. The motion of the wagon soon lulled him to sleep, and Sam settled in for the long trip back to Buckland, simultaneously urging the pony onward and keeping watch over Frodo.   
  
~*~  
  
Night had fallen and the hobbits made a cozy little camp. Haste was not needed as it had been on the journey to Bree, and the luxury of rest for everyone was too pleasant an idea to be ignored. They had pulled the wagons well off the road and made a rough triangle with them. In the space at the triangle's center, they built a small fire pit to cook their supper. Sam was busy preparing the meal and Frodo was sitting in the wagon drinking tea. Merry seated himself at Frodo's side. He kept his silence, waiting instead for Frodo to speak first.   
  
"It's strange," Frodo muttered. "I know he's gone, but I can still almost feel his presence," Frodo said, speaking of Bramblethorn.   
  
Merry nodded. "I know. But he is gone, Frodo. I know how compassionate you are, even toward your enemies, but you mustn't blame yourself for anything that's happened. Bramblethorn killed himself, Frodo. You didn't. He had the opportunity to free you, but he chose treachery instead."  
  
"I know, Merry," Frodo responded sullenly. "But it was all because of me, really. Do you know what he told me?" Frodo raised his eyes to his cousin's. "He'd watched me from the time I came to Hobbiton as a tween. He'd bided his time, waiting for me to come of age and to be alone."  
  
"You came of age, certainly," Merry noted, "but you've never been alone."  
  
"No," Frodo answered, "and I think that frustrated him all the more."   
  
"Very likely," Merry admitted. "There you were, without Bilbo to warn Bramblethorn away, but with Sam to watch over you in his stead."  
  
"What would I have done without him, Merry?" Frodo asked, knowing there was no reasonable answer to the question. "He's always been willing to give up his very life and soul for me."  
  
"He still is." Merry looked over at where Sam was turning the bacon in the pan. "No matter what."  
  
No matter what...even if I'm not worthy of such a one to care for me? Frodo thought sadly. If I cannot bear even his gentle touch without pulling away?   
  
Merry noticed the change in Frodo's expression. "Frodo? What is it?" Please, Frodo. Talk to me.   
  
Frodo turned a haunted gaze toward his cousin and shook his head obstinately. "Nothing, Merry."  
  
Right. Nothing. Some things never changed, it seemed. Even when they had been much younger, Frodo had tended to keep his inner demons to himself as much as possible. Merry could recall being unable to find Frodo for an entire day, and always when something had distressed him. His elder cousin would remove himself from everyone, even from those who truly sought to help him. Frodo would always return in his own time, having dealt in his own manner with whatever was troubling him. Sometimes he would speak of it, sometimes not. Would Frodo ever speak of what darkened his thoughts now?   
  
"Supper's ready, Mr. Frodo," Sam called.   
  
"Come on, cousin. Let's get ours before it's all gone," Merry cajoled, leaping out of the back of the wagon and extending a hand to assist Frodo. Frodo rose and accepted Merry's hand, easing himself carefully down from the wagon. Sam already had a steaming plate in hand, and passed it to Frodo.   
  
Sam watched as Frodo picked at his food distractedly. He longed to see Frodo attack his meal like a hungry traveler ought, but it seemed it wasn't to be. Short rations had probably been the order of the day for Frodo during the past two weeks, Sam thought bitterly. Perhaps his stomach wasn't ready for much more as yet.   
  
After supper, bedrolls were arranged about the fire, and Sam made certain that Frodo's was closest to the warmth of the embers. He placed his own next to it, fully intending to be no farther from Frodo than arm's reach, should anything happen. With Merry's bedroll positioned at the foot of Frodo and Sam's and the other hobbits occupying the ground on the other side of the small fire pit, Frodo was well shielded from the approach of anything from the road or surrounding woods. Harm, should it come, would have to get past three wagons and at least one other hobbit before it could reach him.   
  
Frodo curled up on his side, facing the fire. Sam lay quietly watching him, looking for any sign of distress. Whether Frodo was attempting to sleep or simply staring into the glowing coals, Sam couldn't tell. It was all he could do not to reach out in an attempt to provide some sort of comfort.   
  
After a while, he could tell that Frodo had fallen asleep by the rhythm of his breathing and the stillness of his body. Sam was glad of the fact that journeying always seemed to weary him somewhat. Otherwise, it would have been much longer before he himself fell asleep, if he slept at all. As it was, sleep soon stole over the entire camp, as the moon rose high in the sky above.   
  
~*~  
  
The hand covering his mouth is suddenly gone, and the sound that should have been a scream instead is a series of choked sobs interspersed with harsh breaths. He feels weight upon him, and pain. He is lying on the floor, face down, and a voice whispers to him, not words of comfort, but promises of further violation.  
  
"You are all I had hoped for and more, my love," the voice is purring. "But I haven't finished with you yet, my dear. I'm just beginning to know the pleasure of you in my arms, and we've plenty of time, haven't we?"  
  
There are hands upon him again, turning him over onto his back, still on the hard surface of the floor. The beams of the ceiling look down on him in cold indifference and the face before his eyes looks back into his in mockery. The hands wander over him again, and lips claim his roughly. The hands are seeking, probing, and he moves to stop them, protesting weakly.   
  
"You mustn't fight me, Frodo, or I will bind you. Do you wish me to do so?"   
  
He hates himself for the pleading that follows, and even more for the fact that his body betrays him and responds to the undesired touch.   
  
~*~  
  
Sam was sound asleep but gradually a sense that something wasn't right began to creep over him. He stirred slightly and a frown creased his brow.   
  
~*~  
  
"You cannot help yourself, can you beloved? You see, your body will accept my touch whether or not you choose to."  
  
Fingers brush the hair from his eyes, then grip his face. He cannot look away now, but is forced to meet the gaze that bores into him. He feels the unmistakable evidence of the ardor of the one who holds him as hips grind against his.   
  
"Let us see what you have learned, my dear. Let us see if you have finally realized that you must yield to me. I've had enough of this floor, haven't you? Up, then, my love, now."  
  
There is a tight grip on his arms and he feels himself being dragged upright. His foot slips on something wet and he looks down. Something dark stains the floor. Blood. His. Not much, but it is there nonetheless, evidence of his suffering.  
  
The hands release him and he collapses. It is not hard floorboards that meet him now, but the softer surface of the bed. He grips the coverlet with both hands and buries his face in its folds, weeping.   
  
Weight descends upon him again, and the invasion, when it comes, is slower this time, less anger-driven but no less traumatic. "I didn't enjoy you properly the first time, you understand," the voice breathes. "I was too hurried. I shall not hurry now, my love."  
  
~*~  
  
Sam woke to the sound of incoherent muttering, and the motion of Frodo tossing restlessly beside him. He grew ever more alarmed as the muttering grew louder and became tearful pleading.  
  
"N-no!" Frodo's hand flailed outward as if to ward off an approaching enemy. "P-please, don't! I beg you!"   
  
Unable to stand another moment, Sam reached out and grasped Frodo's arm, shaking him gently to rouse him. "Mr. Frodo! Mr. Frodo, please wake up!"  
  
Frodo's eyes flew open at the touch. They were wide, unseeing. He gasped and pulled away. "No! NO!"  
  
Sam reached out again, more slowly this time. "It's just me, Mr. Frodo. Your Sam. I won't hurt you."  
  
Something akin to comprehension began to come into Frodo's terrified expression as he finally recognized the face staring back into his. "S-Sam?"   
  
"Yes, sir. You were havin' a dream, that's all." Sam's face held an endless supply of concern.  
  
"A dream," Frodo echoed, his brow creasing in a slight frown. "It seemed so very real." His eyes were haunted as he gazed at Sam. "Thank you, Sam."  
  
"You're welcome, Mr. Frodo," Sam replied, feeling utterly helpless. Bramblethorn was dead and gone! What right had he now to trouble Frodo's dreams? Sam wished that he could somehow magically enter Frodo's nightmare himself and stop whatever Bramblethorn had been doing to him. I can't even save him from things that aren't real, Sam thought miserably. But they are real, aren't they? At least, I think they were once.  
  
Frodo burrowed under the blanket again and closed his eyes. When sleep at last overtook him again, Sam gently took Frodo's hand in his own. Frodo slept on, weary and unaware of Sam's attempt to comfort him.   
  
~*~  
  
Merry squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself to remain motionless beneath his blanket. It wouldn't do to let either Frodo or Sam know he had heard the exchange. They had enough to deal with between the two of them. Merry's thoughts went back to the small leather bound book he still kept hidden neatly away. Whatever had possessed him to pick up Bramblethorn's diary, he wondered? Perhaps it held some clues to what Frodo had endured, Merry surmised. While he berated himself for wanting to delve into such things, something whispered to him that there was a possible benefit to such actions. If it might help him to know what he faced in helping to heal his cousin, there was value in it. There had to be.  
  
~*~ To be continued ~*~ 


	29. The Breaking Point

GamgeeFest - You'll get a bit of the diary in this chapter which is a long one! Frodo is likely to have some bad dreams for a while.  
  
Monica - Glad you like the story. It's almost finished, I'm sad to say!  
  
Sam - Yes, Sam is trying very hard to be there for Frodo. It's hard to help someone when you're not sure how to go about it. A breakthrough will be made in this chapter.  
  
Iorhael - Dreams, especially the really vivid ones, can certainly linger with someone even after they wake up.   
  
Endymion2 - Now that Frodo's mind is no longer occupied with survival, the dreams are starting to come. Merry will open that diary in this chapter.  
  
Trust No One - Frodo's grief and guilt can only last so long with so much love around him. He'll release some of that pent up emotion in this chapter, allowing for a little progress.  
  
Stephanie - Merry knows Frodo well, and will know how to help him, or rather how to help Sam help him. Sam and Frodo will spend a few days in Buckland before heading for home.  
  
Aratlithiel1 - I wrote all the diary segments just for the fun of it and it came to me that I could actually use them! More comfort coming in this chapter!  
  
Breon Briarwood - Poor Frodo is having a tough time, certainly. We'll give him a breakthrough in this chapter.  
  
Spootasia Tomoe - I had to warn everyone about that dream. It scared me even when I wrote it. Sam will help Frodo, definitely.  
  
Shelbyshire - Time will help Frodo heal, and the love of the people around him. He will always carry something of these experiences with him, though.  
  
Hobbitfeet13 - That explosion of emotion you mention is guaranteed.  
  
The Lady of Mirkwood - Merry's going to open that diary now.   
  
MercilessTantalus - Thank you for your lavish praise! I struggled mightily with whether to let Bramblethorn succeed or not, and I too decided that it was a realistic turn of events.   
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Chapter 28 - The Breaking Point  
  
~*~ Buckland ~*~  
  
In the silence of his room, Merry slowly opened the book he had taken from Bramblethorn's study. Now, the moment of truth. There were bound to be things inside that would be unpleasant, but he needed to know. He had to know what had been going through Bramblethorn's twisted mind.  
  
The book fell open to a page with a date years earlier, and Merry began to read.  
  
  
  
-After Yule, 1390-  
  
I have been busy, but today at last I have time to tell of the Yule party at the Green Dragon, three days hence. Quite the event, I must say. The most extraordinary thing has come to my attention, or rather, the most extraordinary individual...  
  
I was quite inebriated, I confess, when the meeting occurred, but I was introduced to the nephew of old Bilbo Baggins... It is costing me some effort to recall the dear boy's proper name, but it will come to me, I am certain.   
  
What I do recall with rather amazing clarity (especially given the fact that I had my share of ale that evening) is the astonishing appearance of the lad. Oh, my! There are many ways to describe that which is aesthetically pleasing, and it is most difficult to decide where to begin.  
  
Ah. I have it now. Frodo. The lad's name is Frodo Baggins. Hmmm...why not start at the top and work my way down the list? Let me see...   
  
Hair. Thick, curly, and dark brown with the warmest of russet highlights...what do locks of that sort feel like as one runs one's fingers slowly through them, I wonder? How soft they looked that evening, like the finest velvet... I must abandon that line of thought immediately, or I fear I shall not finish this entry.   
  
The lad's lovely hair absolutely gleamed in the candlelight at the party. In fact, the flames of the candles cast a golden light upon it that made me wish it were not the dead of winter but high summer so I could witness the sunlight playing upon those soft curls...  
  
Facial features. Ahhh. First of all, let me say that I have never seen such smooth, fair skin among the residents of Hobbiton, or all of the Shire, for that matter. It must be impossible for that lovely creature to spend much time in direct sunlight. He certainly should not, for it would be a shame if a sunburn should mar that milky flesh.   
  
Eyes. Eyes of such a deep, sapphire blue...I have never seen anything like them. So - so clear, as if they can see things that are hidden or kept secret from all others. Oh, but if that should be true, it would be much to my sorrow, for if my thoughts at the moment of our meeting were laid bare to the light of day...I shall say no more.  
  
Young Master Baggins possesses sharper features than most of our kind. How was it that he came by them, I wonder? I hear he is related by blood to the Old Took himself, who was also of similar appearance, if legend is to be believed.  
  
I saw him smile from across the room. I must say, I was...stricken. There is no other term. His high cheekbones were graced with a warm glow born of a tankard of ale, a joyful occasion and a crackling fire at the hearth. Does Old Bilbo even know what a splendid creature shares his abode?   
  
Laughter is a gift to all who participate, but in the case of young Frodo, it is a gift to all who are present within hearing. Music. The ringing of finely crafted bells. Chimes singing under the gentle hands of the wind...shall I continue? But I must. I have no choice.   
  
His frame is lean, by comparison with many of us. He is of a reasonable height, but whence came this graceful form? Hobbits, on the whole, are a rather rotund lot. I myself am a great deal sturdier in appearance than the lithe, thin creature I beheld amidst the revelers that night.  
  
He was not unduly thin, but by the same token, not what I would refer to as appearing to be well - fed. I am sure wealthy old Bilbo denies him nothing of a culinary nature, but there was a certain...economy of distribution, if I make myself understood. A place for everything, and everything in its place.  
  
His chest was as narrow as the rest of him, yet I could not imagine his ribs standing out visibly were he - dare I allow myself to picture it - to be without his shirt and weskit. Is the rest of him as pale and luminescent as his countenance?  
  
We hobbits are fond of our sustenance, it is true, yet the lad has the trimmest waistline I have seen on any save the most comely of lasses. Again, if one were to mentally remove his attire (which action I freely admit I am guilty of and hope to be again), one would be likely to note a lean, yet muscular torso.  
  
I am imagining that he is turning from me now, to acknowledge someone calling to him from behind. His back is straight as the figurative arrow which pierces my heart at the memory of the sight of it. Beneath that fine linen shirt and velvet weskit there is more of that smooth porcelain skin. I can imagine it being cool to the touch, like a rose petal long in the shade. Or would it be heated, like a flagstone walkway under the rays of an August sun? One would never know without touching...  
  
Hands. His hands are, for lack of a better term...exquisite. I watched him closely, marking his gestures as he spoke. Long, thin fingers sinuously grasping a tankard at the left and the right hand splayed against the velvet brocade of his weskit at his breastbone as he laughs (music again) at the words he hears. He bites his nails, and I wonder what engendered the habit. He doesn't seem to have a nervous demeanor, but nevertheless, the evidence is plain.  
  
  
  
Oh. Ears. I am moving too quickly, else I would not have failed to mention them. We all have ears, certainly. We must, else such as the musical laughter I have described at length here would be - tragically, if I may say so - of no consequence to us. I watched as he tucked an errant curl behind one of those graceful auditory receptors, and my breathing stilled. I could imagine what it must be like to run a finger slowly from the tip of one of them to the lobe, following the curve with deliberate care...  
  
Am I doing a fair turn at waxing poetic? I am powerless against the impulse, and yet I have not yet completed the task at hand! I must take care with my description as I continue, for I must do justice to the sight I beheld that night.   
  
Fine velvet breeches concealed... what? A gentlehobbit with access to the finest tailors can afford to have the waistband, hips and seams of his trousers fitted perfectly. Hindsight is clarity of a different sort, or so I am told. I should have been a tailor!   
  
Not an ounce of extra girth has been afforded that beautiful body at any point from the waist southward. Or has it? Hmmm... hope - and great curiosity - spring eternal, as I digress.   
  
Those hips, thighs and legs must be wondrous to behold without fabric obscuring them. Silken and white with firm sinew beneath, I can imagine strength born of long walks in the countryside filling those limbs...I believe that under close inspection (the closer the better, you understand) those hip bones would be more prominent than most.  
  
Feet. What can be said of our feet? The firm foundation of our race, in constant contact with the soil, which provides us with such bounty... The same deep brown, russet and gold adorned the lowest extremities of the lad's body as the highest. I saw him dance that night, and those feet were as sure and quick beneath him as the mind that directed them in their steps.  
  
I must make a point of further studying this phenomenal lad. He is not nearly of age yet, unfortunately, or I would be quite tempted to approach him. I find that pleasure is something we all seek, and appreciation for beauty is something that transcends the boundaries of gender. I am aware that there are others who share this opinion, and I certainly hope that the subject of these writings should find himself to be among them....  
  
Merry snapped the book shut, unable to read any more. I should have left it there, I should never have touched it, he thought miserably. The idea that Bramblethorn's obsession with Frodo had been building for so long unbeknownst to any of them was horrifying. If only we'd known, Merry thought. We might have - no.   
  
There was no point to such musings. The past could not be changed. Merry tucked the book away. Perhaps he might be able to read more eventually, but he was quite finished for the time being.   
  
~*~  
  
Sam lit his pipe and sighed. He stood in the fresh, crisp air in the courtyard of Brandy Hall, contemplating the journey from Bree and the days that lay ahead. It had been a tense few days they had spent coming back to Buckland. During the trip, Sam dedicated himself to making sure that Frodo didn't tire himself out too greatly.   
  
The first day had been an anxious one especially, with Frodo seeming to alternate from an almost normal demeanor to sudden periods of silence and detached gazing into the distance. And then there were the dreams. Sam had been torn between the temptation to ask after Frodo's well - being and the knowledge that by doing so he would be inviting discussion that would further distress his friend and master.   
  
Sam didn't look up as footsteps sounded lightly behind him. Merry pulled a small pouch of pipeweed from his pocket and prepared his own pipe. "Mind if I join you, Sam?" he asked, his voice a touch more tense than usual.   
  
"Not at all, Mr. Merry," Sam replied.   
  
"Where's Frodo?" Merry asked.  
  
Sam looked at his toes as he answered. "He's resting again," he replied softly. "I'll wake him in time for supper."  
  
Merry frowned a little as he chewed on the end of his pipe. "It's two days we've been back from Bree and he's spent most of that time hiding in his room," he observed. "I'm worried about him, Sam."  
  
"He says he's ready to go back to Bag End within the week, but he ain't said much else," Sam replied. "He hasn't been himself, Mr. Merry. He ain't eatin' like he should. I'll say somethin' to him and he won't answer. He'll just be lookin' off into nothin'."  
  
Merry nodded. "I've seen him do that. He's trying to hold it all in, Sam, and I don't see how he can." It bothered Merry more than he could say to see Frodo closing himself off in such a manner. "He's trying to protect all of us from whatever it is that's troubling him, as if speaking of it will somehow release something dark and harmful in our midst."  
  
"So instead, he's keepin' somethin' dark and harmful inside himself," Sam confirmed. "I want to help him, Mr. Merry, but I don't know how to go about it. If I ask him, he just tells me to stop frettin' over him an' says he's fine. He ain't fine, Mr. Merry. I see his hands shakin' and I see the look in his eyes."  
  
"You can help him, Sam," Merry said quietly. "In fact, I'm quite convinced that you're the only one who can."   
  
Sam shook his head in frustration. "How can I help him if he doesn't want me to?"  
  
"He wants your help, he's just not aware of it yet," Merry answered. "When we were younger, Frodo would always hold in whatever troubled him until it was just too big for him. He would reach a point where he would go off by himself to fight his demons alone. He'll do it again, Sam, but this is too big for him to face by himself."  
  
"So what do I do?" Sam asked, looking plaintively at Merry.   
  
"Watch him, Sam. When he chooses his moment, you'll have to follow him. You must confront him and get him to talk to you." Merry gave Sam a sharp look. "He might tell you to go away and leave him alone. You mustn't do it, Sam. You've got to defy him and stay, for his sake if nothing else."  
  
Defy him. It was a difficult notion for Sam to grasp, the idea of forsaking his place and contradicting Frodo's apparent wishes. Still, he had tried everything else, hadn't he? He had been as patient and kind as always, attempting through the familiarity of friendship to get Frodo to release the pain that was so obviously dragging him down. Frodo always responded with the same evasions and assurances that nothing was wrong, but Sam knew him well enough to know better.   
  
"I promise I'll try, Mr. Merry," Sam said gravely as he finished his pipe. "I'm watchin' him close, and I won't let him suffer alone."  
  
"I know, Sam," Merry answered. "I'm watching too, and I think he's getting near his breaking point. He'll need you."  
  
"I'm goin' to sit with him for a while," Sam announced as he turned to reenter the Hall.   
  
Merry watched him go and breathed a silent prayer. In the past, when they had been just young lads at the Hall, Merry had always been able to draw Frodo out of his self - imposed solitude eventually, whether by trickery, reasoning or confrontation. It had been many years since Frodo had lived at Brandy Hall, however, and Merry knew that Sam was now the one person who might be able to accomplish what Merry had in the past. He only hoped that Sam would outlast Frodo's stubbornness.   
  
~*~  
  
Frodo opened the door of the library and slipped quietly inside. During his youth at Brandy Hall he had often sought solace there when something troubled him, and he found himself doing so now without even pausing to consider.   
  
He lit a candle and looked around him as the warm glow of the light fell upon the rows of books and comfortable furnishings. He began to scan the volumes on the shelf. A noise behind him startled him and he whirled, breathing a sigh of relief as the familiar face of Saradoc met his eyes.  
  
"I should have known I'd find you here," the Master of the Hall said mildly. "How did you slip away from Sam?"  
  
"He stepped outside for a pipe, and I didn't really feel like smoking," Frodo answered, selecting a book from one of the shelves and gazing at it idly.  
  
"I needn't stay here if you don't want company right now," Saradoc said, watching Frodo's reaction. He truly wanted to speak with Frodo, but only if Frodo was willing.   
  
"No, please," Frodo answered, taking a chair and gesturing toward the one next to it. "I don't mind."  
  
"Good, I'm glad," Saradoc replied as he seated himself. There was a tense moment of silence between them as Frodo turned the book over in his hands without opening it and Saradoc considered his next words. "I'm glad you decided to stay with us for a few days before going back to Hobbiton," he ventured. "You and Sam are both welcome to stay as long as you like."  
  
"Thank you," Frodo replied, lifting his gaze to meet Saradoc's. "We both appreciate the hospitality of the Hall." Frodo's gaze again fell to the book in his hands. "Even so, we should be leaving for home soon."  
  
Saradoc nodded. "Yes, and Hobbiton has long been your home, dear Frodo." It was difficult to broach the subject, but Saradoc forged on. "You haven't been troubled by anyone here, have you? I'll not have anyone prying - "  
  
Frodo shook his head emphatically. "No, no, it's nothing like that. Everyone has been quite polite, really." It was true that no one had plied Frodo with questions regarding his time in Bree, but Frodo could all but feel their gazes upon him and fancied he could hear them whispering amongst themselves. While no one had been bold enough to indulge in any open rumor - mongering, there was no possible way to keep a large population of hobbits from gossiping.   
  
"I'm glad to hear it," Saradoc said, drumming his fingers against the arm of his chair. "I'll not have anyone making you uncomfortable." He rose and gave Frodo's shoulder a pat as he prepared to leave the room. "If there is anything you need, you will mention it, won't you?"  
  
"I promise I shall," Frodo answered, mustering a small smile. Saradoc smiled back and quietly left the room. Frodo closed his eyes and sighed. He couldn't decide if the relative solitude of Bag End would be preferable to the bustle of Brandy Hall at the moment. In the busy atmosphere of Buckland there was distraction, but there was also that persistent feeling of being observed, being judged. How much did everyone know of his ordeal, he wondered? What were they thinking and saying of him?   
  
Frodo considered Bag End, home. It would be peaceful there, but out of the quiet would come the memories, with nothing in the way to keep them from filling his mind. Alone in truth or alone in a crowd, Frodo knew neither would truly bring him ease at the moment. And he was alone, he reflected. He had to be. Otherwise all the pain and fear he felt would become the burden of those around him, those who deserved it not. For the thousandth time that day, Frodo forced back his tears.   
  
~*~ The next evening ~*~  
  
The room was dark and quiet, the perfect environment for one who wished for a few hours of sleep before supper. As comfortable as the room was, its occupant tossed restlessly. The wind rattled the window frame as Frodo sat up and lowered his head into his hands.   
  
It was too much! He felt he couldn't keep up the pretense that all was well with him for another minute. The walls of the room seemed to be closing in around him, trapping him in close quarters with his memories and fears. His mind whispered to him to release them, to just let go and be done, but some other part of him stubbornly refused. If he broke down here, someone would hear and he would have to speak.   
  
He flung the blanket aside and bolted for the door, heedless of his cloak draped over a chair by the bed. Once in the hallway, he leaned against the wall and attempted to calm himself. He hoped to reach the main doors of the Hall without being observed. For the most part, he succeeded, passing no one save a young tween lass who was sweeping the floor of the main hallway. He nodded as he passed, not trusting himself to speak. She nodded and smiled, then returned to her task with only a passing thought to the strangeness of Mr. Frodo's going out into the weather without his cloak.  
  
~*~  
  
After stopping by the stables to check on the ponies, Sam headed for Frodo's room. Supper would be served soon, and as much as Frodo seemed to benefit from the extra rest, Sam didn't want him to sleep through the evening meal.   
  
"Mr. Frodo?" Sam tapped on the door. "Time to wake up. Supper's going to be ready soon." How Frodo could sleep so soundly with the storm going on outside was a mystery to Sam. The wind was whipping through the dying leaves of the trees and the rain was pelting down in a cold torrent.   
  
When his summons went unanswered, Sam pushed the door open just a crack and peered in. The bed was empty. Frodo had forsaken his room for the time being and Sam's heart froze in his chest as he remembered Merry's words the day before. Had Frodo gone to find a quiet place to battle his fears then?   
  
Where would he go, Sam wondered? He hurried from the empty room to check the library, but found it just as deserted. Inquiries revealed little until he encountered a young lass with a broom in the corridor leading to the front parlor. "Beggin' your pardon, but have you seen Mr. Frodo in the last few minutes?" Sam asked.  
  
"Well, yes," she answered, her brow creasing as she thought. "It was perhaps a half hour ago. He didn't say a word, but he left the Hall by the main entrance."   
  
Sam thanked her and hurried toward the front doors of the Hall. As he burst out into the night, a chill wind struck him and rain lashed his face. He hoped Frodo hadn't gone far and that he had taken his cloak with him.   
  
Sam hurried down the main path until it widened to lead him past the stables. He stopped at the stables long enough to find and light a lantern. He continued on his way, searching until his path led him toward a large barn where a door stood slightly open. As he paused by the barn door, Sam thought he heard a sound from within the structure. He listened again, attempting to separate the sound from the howl of the storm wind. It was soft, almost inaudible, but between the gusting breaths of the storm, Sam was certain he heard the soft sound of someone weeping.   
  
He pushed the door open silently and gazed into the gloom. He could make out a figure hunched in the corner. Sitting on a hay bale with his back to the wall and his face buried in his hands was Frodo. His shoulders shook as he released in private what he refused to show to even those closest to him.   
  
Sam gathered his courage and stepped into the barn, wondering whether the storm inside the structure was any less severe than the one raging outside. He paused as he reached a point where the shadows would no longer hide his presence and the glow of the lantern. "Mr. Frodo?"  
  
No answer but a choked sob.   
  
Sam stepped closer and tried again. "Mr. Frodo, it's me," he began. "What can I do to help you?"  
  
Frodo found his voice with difficulty. "You can't help me, Sam. Please let me be. I - I want to be alone."  
  
There was no turning back now. Sam closed his eyes and spoke in open defiance of his master. "No, Mr. Frodo. Not this time. I know you think you want to be alone, but I'm not goin' away."  
  
There was absolute silence for a moment as Frodo struggled with his emotions. "Did I just hear you tell me no?" he said, sounding shocked and even a little angry. Sam had never said such a thing to him before.  
  
"That's what I said, Mr. Frodo," Sam answered resolutely, taking another step forward. "I said I ain't leavin'. You shouldn't be alone right now. Mr. Merry said so too."  
  
"Did he, then?" Frodo snapped irritably. "And so you and Merry know so much more about what I need than I do?"   
  
"I think you know, too," Sam responded as he began to close the distance between himself and Frodo. "You're tryin' to spare us the pain of what you're feelin', but you shouldn't. You should share it with us so we can help you." Sam was nearly pleading now. "Please, Mr. Frodo. Let me in. Don't shut me out an' try to hide from me."  
  
Frodo leapt to his feet and faced Sam, giving vent to all that had built up inside of him. His hair hung lank and damp into his eyes from his walk in the rain and the look in his eyes was like that of a wild animal cornered by a hunter. "Please, Sam! Don't ask this of me. Don't ask me to lay such a burden upon you." He backed away, as if Sam were something to fear instead of the one who loved him most dearly.  
  
Undaunted, Sam continued to step cautiously forward, extending his hand and speaking softly. "I am askin' you to, Mr. Frodo," Sam said earnestly. "It's plain you can't bear it alone."   
  
Frodo continued to back away. The impulse to flee was racing through him, regardless of the fact that comfort was mere inches from him. How can I give this to you, Sam, Frodo thought despondently. How can I allow you to take such darkness into yourself where there is such goodness and light? I cannot! I will not! I -   
  
Frodo's thoughts reached a deafening crescendo in his mind, and he obeyed the panicked inner voice that told him to run, to avoid the inevitable pouring out of his soul. He made an attempt to lunge past Sam toward the door of the barn, but Sam reached out and captured him in a strong embrace. Frodo struggled to break free and wound up on the floor of the barn, Sam falling with him.  
  
"No... NO!" He sobbed as Sam held him, ignoring the fists that alternately beat upon his chest and unclenched to grip the front of his shirt. "Let me go, Sam!"  
  
"Let you go where?" Sam cried, near tears himself. "Out there, into the storm to catch your death? Where will you go? What do you expect to find that I can't give you?" As Frodo's struggles grew weaker, Sam's voice softened. "I'm here, Mr. Frodo, and I ain't goin' away. Tell me. Tell me how I can help you."  
  
Frodo lay gasping in Sam's embrace, emotionally and physically drained. As Sam reached out to brush the damp curls from Frodo's forehead, Frodo grasped his hand and gripped it tightly. He finally looked up and Sam was all but frozen by what he saw in Frodo's eyes. He saw fear, and a need so desperate it all but broke his heart.   
  
"I...need you, Sam," Frodo said, his voice breaking. "I need you to show me that there is still light in the world, in me. I need to know that I can still welcome the touch of another and that I am still worthy of another's care."   
  
"Of course you are," Sam said softly. "Whatever would make you think otherwise?"  
  
"You must understand, Sam. When he... when Bramblethorn took me that night, it was without any thought for me or my sensibilities. He threw me face down on the floor, in the dust. He held one of my arms behind my back and covered my mouth with his hand to stifle my screams." Frodo's voice was almost inaudible, but he continued to speak, finding it difficult to stop now that the floodgates were open. "There was no...preparation. I was reduced to a thing without dignity, without value. I begged him, Sam. I begged him to stop, but he only laughed."  
  
Frodo's words were like the talons of a terrible beast, tearing into Sam's heart. Sam fought to keep from seeing in his mind's eye what Frodo was describing. Unable to summon words, Sam continued to hold Frodo and stroke his hair, tears falling to dampen the locks further.   
  
"It didn't end there," Frodo said wearily. "He touched me, Sam. He knew that even my own body would betray me, and it did. I hate myself for it! I hate myself for not even being able to hold back some small part of myself from him."   
  
"It's not your fault, Mr. Frodo," Sam told him. "An' you did hold back somethin' from him. Somethin' he couldn't touch no matter how he tried. Your heart." He gently lifted Frodo's tear - stained face and gazed directly into his eyes. "He never had the one thing he was wantin' from you more than anything. He never could claim your heart, could he?"  
  
"No... no, Sam, he couldn't," Frodo affirmed as fresh tears threatened. "How could he, when it belongs to another?"  
  
It was Sam's turn to nearly lose the power of speech. He began to stammer something, but his words were lost in sound of the wind gusting fiercely outside and the rain that hammered against the barn roof. That, and the closeness of arms around him, of breath and life, light and warmth.   
  
~*~  
  
Merry stood gazing out an upper window of the Hall, watching the storm winds lash the trees. The clouds were breaking up now and the rain had changed from a steady torrent to an intermittent drizzle. Supper was to be served within the hour, and he had managed to lose not only Frodo but Sam as well.   
  
The significance of that fact began to dawn on him, and he wondered if his prediction had come true. Had Frodo finally reached the limit of his strength? Was Sam, at this moment, trying to bring him back from whatever precipice he was poised upon? Please, Frodo, let him help you, Merry thought silently. Let him draw out the poison Bramblethorn poured into your soul.   
  
The clouds broke apart and a sliver of moonlight shone through. It was dark out, but not so dark that a slight movement failed to catch Merry's eye. He squinted toward the barn a distance away and thought he saw two figures emerging, walking slowly, hand in hand. Yes. The two figures stopped and seemed to melt into each other in an embrace that Merry felt almost guilty to witness.   
  
A smile started at the corners of Merry's mouth and by the time he had reached the front parlor of the Hall, it had spread to his eyes. He opened the door to admit Frodo and Sam, who barely seemed to notice his presence. As they passed, Merry calmly said, "See you at supper?"  
  
Sam looked back over his shoulder at Merry and nodded. Their eyes met for a moment, and Merry nodded back.   
  
~*~  
  
Freshly scrubbed and wearing dry clothes, Frodo and Sam entered the Great Hall together. Merry waved to them from a table a short distance away. "Frodo! Sam! Over here!"   
  
They sat down, and Frodo looked up to give Merry a little smile. "Thank you, Merry."  
  
"For what?" Merry asked, pretending innocence. He passed frothing mugs of ale to Sam and Frodo and raised his own in salute.  
  
"For being as wise as you've always been," Frodo responded, returning Merry's gesture. "I'm very sorry for my recent behavior and for all the worry I've caused you."  
  
Merry sobered somewhat as he answered. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Frodo. Sam and I were just worried about you, that's all."  
  
"The sensible part of me knows that," Frodo admitted. "I'm very fortunate to have both of you standing by my side."  
  
"That's where we'll always be, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, lightly brushing Frodo's hand with his own.   
  
"That goes for me, too," a voice lilted softly from behind Frodo.   
  
"Pippin! When did you get here?" Frodo exclaimed, as Merry beamed and motioned for Pippin to join them at the table.   
  
"Only an hour ago," Pippin answered, claiming a mug of ale for himself. The bright smile faded slightly as he said, "Please pardon me, cousin, but I've heard there have been some unusual goings on?"  
  
"Don't trouble Frodo with questions now, Pip," Merry said gently. "It's not the time."  
  
Pippin looked chagrined, but Frodo regarded him kindly. "It's all right, Pip. I know you haven't been here for a while. Yes, much has happened in the past two weeks." Since giving vent to his feelings, Frodo felt better than he had in days. With Sam and Merry nearby to lend him support, he felt that he could face at least a brief recounting of the recent events.   
  
"I heard you all went to Bree," Pippin said, the question a tentative probe. "I would have gone with you, you know, but the wedding - "  
  
"I'm sure you were having a harrowing time of your own, now that you mention it," Merry said, trying to lighten the mood.   
  
Pippin's face scrunched up into a pained expression. "It was terrible, Mer. So much fuss and foolishness, and no fun at all."   
  
"I mean no offense, Pippin," Frodo said quietly, "but I'm rather glad you weren't in Bree with us. It was far from a pleasant trip, for everyone involved."  
  
"I heard there was... trouble," Pippin said hesitantly.   
  
"Bramblethorn." Merry said with a nod.   
  
Pippin's eyes widened. "Merry, what - "  
  
"He's dead, Pip. He'll never hurt Frodo again," Merry stated gravely. "And what's more, he was responsible for ruining our crops! He had a couple of fellows he hired come to Buckland and seed the fields with that wretched weed."  
  
"Why did he do that?" Pippin wondered aloud.   
  
"Revenge, for one," Merry responded. "Personal gain was his motive as well."  
  
"You see, Pip," Frodo explained, "Bramblethorn had managed to gain control of most of the ready supply of grain around Bree. He figured that if things were bad enough here, we would have to seek outside the Shire for grain to purchase. Of course, he would have it to sell and at a premium."  
  
Pippin frowned. "So he ruined the harvest, forced you to buy the grain from him and kidnapped Frodo?" As soon as the words escaped him, Pippin clamped a hand over his mouth and looked apologetically at his companions. "I'm sorry, Frodo. Please forgive me. I didn't mean to - "  
  
"I know, Pip," Frodo soothed his younger cousin. "I thought you might have heard something about that. Word travels quickly in the Hall."   
  
"But you're here now, and you're all right...aren't you?" Pippin asked his features full of hope and concern.   
  
Frodo looked at Merry and Sam before speaking. His fingers closed around Sam's as he replied. "Yes, Pippin. I'm safe now, and I'll be fine."   
  
"So tell me about the wedding, Pip," Merry said, changing the subject once and for all. There would be time to tell Pippin more about the trip to Bree later, without having to remind Frodo of it in the telling. Pippin launched into an account of his cousin's wedding, including humorous mishaps and a hilarious impression of the fretful bride that made Frodo laugh outright for the first time in almost three weeks.   
  
~*~   
  
It was late now, and everyone else had retired for the night. Merry had crept from his room to the library where he stood before the dwindling fire and opened the blue cover of the diary again.   
  
He had scanned all but the final entries since he had liberated the book from Bramblethorn's study. In so doing, he had learned much about the troubled life of its author, and gained insight into the mind and motivations of his enemy. There was little comfort in the knowledge he had gained, however. He knew he would never speak to anyone regarding what the book had revealed. He now turned the page to the final entry.  
  
And so it comes to this. For all the choices I have given to Frodo, I face one of my own now, one I cannot avoid. I must either release him and bid him farewell, or I must claim him once and for all.   
  
If I let him go, I shall not see him again, I am certain. I shall not look in his eyes or hear his voice, I shall not feel the warmth of his hand in mine.   
  
If I claim him, I must flee this place. I shall be pursued, certainly. But flee, I could, and Frodo with me. We could travel, together. Frodo likes to travel, I believe. I can show him! I must, for I cannot bear his absence. I can show him that I can give him everything he could ever need or want! Damn Bree! Damn this place that is empty of all but fools and groveling sycophants!   
  
I will not be alone again. Never again...  
  
Merry closed the book and stood quietly, grimly, in the flickering firelight. It had been a final act of madness that had driven Bramblethorn to attempt to flee and take Frodo with him. And there was one final act Merry must face, one that would never cleanse his mind of the things he knew or the memories he would harbor.   
  
Slowly, Merry extended the hand that held the book toward the glowing coals. He laid it carefully atop them and watched as smoke curled about the cover and the pages began to curl and blacken. The book burst into flame and was consumed as Merry watched pensively. He did not leave the room until it was indistinguishable from the rest of the ashes in the fireplace.   
  
~*~ To be continued ~*~ 


	30. Epilogue

Aelfgifu - Bramblethorn just couldn't let go, could he? He was completely delusional.  
  
Lucia I. Legaia Tanaka - There was no way this story could end without a little Frodo/Sam! Bramblethorn is gone, but I don't think he's forgotten!  
  
Endymion2 - Merry read the whole diary, including the parts that were very painful to him. The vignette regarding young Frodo just served to help him understand just what a complicated thing had been going on and for how long. Frodo's recovery was not complete in the last chapter, but it was a step in the right direction. He's still going to need a lot of love and patience.  
  
Trust No One - You've got to pity Bramblethorn for being so messed up. I wanted his obsession to be something like Gollum's.   
  
Sam - Pippin is in this chapter too. Underneath the fun loving exterior, Merry is a very practical hobbit.  
  
Stephanie - Things will start looking up for everyone now. We started the story with a harvest, and we'll end with one, and a party as well.  
  
Breon Briarwood - Thank you. I'm glad you've enjoyed this story. I had a lot of fun writing it.  
  
Hobbitfeet13 - It was hard for Sam to defy Frodo openly, but he had to. I'm not sure what I'll be doing next regarding new stories, but I have a few ideas.  
  
Spootasia Tomoe - The rest of that closure is coming in this chapter.   
  
Camellia Gamgee - Took - This is the last chapter, but it kind of brings everything together. Pippin is in this one too.  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
My thanks to all of you who have read this story faithfully and made it a success!  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Epilogue  
  
~*~ Almost a year later ~*~  
  
Frodo and Sam arrived in the courtyard of Brandy Hall to the bustle of preparations for what promised to be one of the grandest Harvest Festival celebrations in recent memory. The crops in Buckland had been tended with the greatest care during the growing season, and the yield had been even greater than expected. There had been no sign of the weed with the red seedpods, nor had any other unwanted growth been tolerated in any quantity.   
  
The courtyard was teeming with hobbits carrying tables and chairs, hanging lanterns and banners, and hammering away as they built a platform for the musicians who were to entertain the revelers. Merry leapt off the rung of the ladder he was climbing, the end of the banner he had been holding fluttering down to the ground as an indignant Pippin shouted, "Where are you going?!"   
  
"Frodo and Sam are here," Merry called back at Pippin, causing his cousin to drop the banner entirely and scramble down from his ladder to follow Merry toward the new arrivals as they stood in the courtyard.   
  
Hugs and laughter followed, and Frodo took in the scene with a genuine smile. "Your letter said the harvest was successful, but it must have really been something if all of this is any indication."  
  
"We've hardly slept, we've been so busy," Merry crowed happily. "It's the best harvest in years."  
  
"Wait until you try the ale and cider," Pippin enthused. "This year's batch is - "  
  
"Half gone already, thanks to you," Merry quipped, with a look of mock disapproval for Pippin.   
  
"He's exaggerating," Pippin informed them, bringing a fresh burst of laughter from the group.   
  
"Well, come on," Merry beckoned the others. "You're in time for tea, and I could use a break from all this lantern stringing and banner hanging."   
  
As they walked, Frodo gazed around him at the happy, healthy residents of Buckland. It looked as if all had survived the winter, perhaps not in ease and true comfort, but well enough at least. With a smile for his cousin, Frodo commented, "Everyone looks well. You too."  
  
"Everyone is aware that last winter could have been much worse," Merry answered. "There was a genuine spirit of thankfulness and generosity in the Hall all season. Everyone shared what they had and no one asked for more than his portion." Merry regarded Frodo with a serious expression. "And our success was due in large part to you, you know that, don't you?"  
  
Frodo shook his head slightly. "I did nothing, Merry. I allowed myself to fall into Bramblethorn's hands, and I caused you such worry and pain - "  
  
"You bore unspeakable things at his hands," Merry protested sharply. "And all for the sake of Buckland. There are very few here who know the entire story, Frodo. They don't know what you were willing to bear for their sakes. They never will."   
  
Frodo shook his head. "That doesn't bother me, Merry. They're safe. They're happy. It's enough."   
  
"And what about you?" Merry kept his voice low, intending the conversation to be solely between himself and his cousin.  
  
"I'm all right, Merry," Frodo answered. He met Merry's measuring gaze steadily. "Truly, I am." Frodo nodded toward his gardener, who walked a short distance ahead with Pippin. "Sam has not left my side during his waking hours since our return home. When he must be away from Bag End at all, he checks all the windows and doors before he goes. I couldn't be safer."  
  
"Bless him," Merry said gladly. "You can always count on Sam, can't you?"  
  
"Always."   
  
~*~  
  
Laughter rang in the warm night air and lively music drifted on the light breeze as green leaves whispered and lanterns swayed above the courtyard. Ale was flowing freely and a number of hobbits were dancing a lively jig. Merry and Pippin were part of the circle of dancers, of course, and were currently busy making everyone laugh as they 'accidentally' stepped on each others' toes while miraculously avoiding stomping on those of their actual dance partners.   
  
Frodo sipped his ale as he looked across the courtyard. Sam had been waylaid by Fredegar Bolger and was politely trying to extricate himself from the conversation while casting quick glances back at Frodo.   
  
"Did you hear me, Sam?" Fredegar prodded as Sam turned his gaze from Frodo. "It was absolutely hilarious, I tell you."  
  
"I'm right sure it was," Sam said hurriedly, before his garrulous companion could start in on another anecdote. "It's good to see you again and all, but Mr. Frodo's waitin' - "  
  
"Ah, well, I suppose he is," Fredegar agreed with a nod. He turned and waved cheerfully to Frodo. His gaze wandered around the gathering. "And there's that pretty lass from Hardbottle. What's her name?" Fredegar fretted, then grinned. "Can't remember, but maybe I can get her to remind me," he said and departed with a tipsy wink.  
  
Sam filled two tankards with ale and made his way back to Frodo's side, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Frodo. You know how ol' Fatty is when he gets to tellin' his stories."  
  
"I do indeed," Frodo said, accepting the fresh mug Sam held out. "His tales are amusing, if somewhat unlikely at times."  
  
"If you're tryin' to say that he's oft times wrappin' a grain of truth in a blanket of foolishness, I'll have to agree with you." Sam swigged his ale and leaned back against the tree he and Frodo had chosen to sit beneath.   
  
"I think I should like to take a brief walk," Frodo said suddenly, and Sam looked at him in alarm.   
  
"Now?" He asked, looking uncertainly from Frodo to his fresh mug of ale and voiced the thought that troubled him. "Alone?"   
  
Frodo smiled kindly and shook his head. "Not necessarily. You can come with me if you want to."  
  
"Of course I'm comin' with you," Sam said resolutely. "I'm not lettin' you wander off by yourself, nohow."  
  
Frodo caught himself readying a protest that died unspoken. He felt perfectly safe there in the shadow of Brandy Hall, but he knew Sam would be looking out for the slightest sign of trouble. He rose from the blanket they were sitting on and helped Sam pull himself to his feet. Frodo handed Sam his ale and raised his own in salute. "Come along, then, Sam."  
  
They wandered at a leisurely pace down a path that led down by the river as it flowed lazily between the banks. Perhaps it was an effect of the ale, but Sam found himself asking, "Did you come here when you lived at the Hall? I mean, even after - " he broke off, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.  
  
"Yes, Sam. Despite what I lost to the waters of this river, I've taken a measure of comfort in the sound and sight of it at times. It changes, but it doesn't." Frodo gazed around at the trees and reached out to lightly touch the gnarled bark of the nearest. "It's always been there and always will be despite the passing of time."  
  
"Do you miss it? Brandy Hall, I mean?" Sam's expression was hidden by tree shadow and the mug of ale he raised to his lips.   
  
Frodo smiled. "I've been long away from the Hall, Sam," he answered quietly. "Bag End truly is my home now, and has been since I was a tween. I'd not trade it for anything Brandy Hall has to offer."  
  
"Not anything, Mr. Frodo?" This time Sam raised his eyes and looked directly at Frodo.   
  
"Samwise, what's gotten into you?" Frodo asked, cocking his head to one side and peering into the semidarkness at his gardener. "Why do you ask?"  
  
Aware that he could do nothing but finish the conversation he'd begun, Sam forged ahead. "When we returned here from Bree last season, Mr. Merry told me to help you. He said that he couldn't anymore, and that it had to be me. It was as if he was letting go of something once and for all."  
  
Frodo nodded. "When we were younger, Merry always sort of watched over me in his own way. When I went to Hobbiton, it was hard for him at first. I think what he was trying to say is that he knows that I'm in good hands."   
  
"Does he?" Sam's voice bore a plaintive note. Many had been the nights he had lain awake, thinking of all should have done.   
  
"Let me make one thing quite clear to you, Samwise," Frodo said earnestly. "I know that wherever I go, I want you to be there with me."   
  
"An' I promise I will be," Sam answered.   
  
~*~  
  
"He's gone, Merry!" Pippin said in alarm, pointing to the space Frodo and Sam had been occupying only minutes before.   
  
For a moment Merry's eyes showed a hint of alarm and uncertainty until something occurred to him and he smiled at Pippin. "It's all right, Pip. Sam's with him."  
  
Pippin looked again toward the abandoned blanket under the tree and sighed in relief. "I'm sorry. I thought for a moment - "  
  
"It's all right, Pip. I think we'll all be looking after Frodo a bit more attentively now, whether we realize it or not," Merry answered. "Whether he realizes it or not."  
  
At that moment Frodo and Sam emerged from the shadows. They were smiling, and Sam reached out to take Frodo's empty ale mug.   
  
Merry and Pippin positioned themselves conveniently beside the nearest barrel of Buckland's finest, and nodded to Sam as he approached. "All is well, then, is it not, Sam?" Merry ventured.  
  
"Aye, Mr. Merry. That it is," Sam replied, with a glance over his shoulder.   
  
"And may it so remain," Merry said, raising his mug and smiling.  
  
~*~ The End ~*~ 


End file.
